by Sarah Jio
“Yes, the”—he makes air quotes with his fingers—“ ‘boy band’ that went platinum last year.”
I remember laughing with Tracy at their music video for the song “All the Way.” We decided that men really shouldn’t wear all white. A T-shirt is one thing, but a T-shirt, pants, shoes, and hat? Well, it was bad.
“He’s doing a solo album with us,” James says. “And it’s going to be huge.”
Cade shifts in his seat and guzzles his sake, as if the very idea of this is about to make him break out in hives.
“A commercial success, maybe,” he says. “But, James, you and I both know that this dude is musically bankrupt.”
“Signing Ethan White is an enormous deal for Element,” James counters, exhaling deeply.
Cade refills his sake glass. “I told you I still want to think this over,” he says, a bit agitated. I’ve never seen this side of him, and it immediately puts me on edge.
James throws up his arms. “What’s to think over? We have a Grammy Award–winning platinum artist who wants to make music with us.”
“But it’s not our kind of music, James, and you know that,” Cade says, his voice a bit louder now.
James flashes a gentlemanly glance my way. “Guess you’re getting the real view of a day in the life of Element Records.”
Cade stands up. “I don’t want to talk about this here, man,” he says. “Let’s step out for a bit.”
James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever you want, dude.” He turns to us with a smile. “Ladies, excuse us.”
Alexis and I watch awkwardly as the two men walk outside to the sidewalk. She looks mildly grief-stricken, and I wonder if this is a scene she’s witnessed often over the years. A moment later, through the window, we watch as they sort out their differences with animated gestures.
“They fight like brothers sometimes,” Alexis says knowingly. She leans in as if she’s about to let me in on a little secret. “But they love each other. They always work it out.” She waves to a waiter and orders us another round of drinks. “Have another,” she whispers with a laugh. “It’s on the company’s dime.”
Ten minutes later they return, with their argument seemingly sorted out. We finish our sushi, chat about benign topics over another bottle of sake, then find our way to the door.
“Kailey, it was so good to meet you,” Alexis says, squeezing my hand. She stumbles a little as she does, and I suspect that the sake has gone to her head, as it has gone to mine. My cheeks feel warm as I watch her turn to Cade and plant a kiss on his cheek. If this bothers James, he gives no indication.
“What time will you be in the office on Monday?” she asks Cade as James reaches for her hand.
He looks at me. “Hopefully not until well past eleven.”
“Okay,” she says, a little annoyed. “I have contracts for you to sign.”
Cade nods and waves goodbye. We make our exit to the street and jump into a cab. I peer through the window as the car peels off. James and Alexis are a blur in the snowy night.
—
Cade seems exhausted and distracted when we get back to his place. He opens the fridge and stares inside absently. Outside the window, the snow falls heavier now. And despite the uncomfortable time at dinner, I love this night because I am with him. I plug in the strand of lights we have hung on the little Charlie Brown Christmas tree we picked up at the market in Queen Anne last weekend.
“You okay?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You seem a little tense.”
“Sorry,” he says. “James has a way of getting under my skin. He always has.”
“I can see why,” I say. “I mean, he’s nice and all, but there’s…some intensity, for sure.”
“Exactly,” Cade says. “When we were first starting out, the excitement of our early success made it easy to ignore all of that. But now?” He shakes his head. “It’s like he’s turned into a complete egomaniac.”
I nod. “Sorry.”
Cade sighs. “What did you think of Alexis?”
My eyes meet his. “I thought she was nice, I guess.”
Cade nods. “She’s great—one of our first interns. I hired her right out of college. I asked her what her desert island music choices would be and she didn’t hesitate. Nirvana. U2. The Beach Boys.”
“Wow,” I say. I’m surprised that he’d remember her interview question in such detail.
He pauses, then flashes me a knowing look. “You’re doing it,” he says with a grin.
“Doing what?”
“The walls-up eye flutter.”
I shake my head. “The walls-up what?”
“You flutter your eyelashes when you’re upset or unsettled by something.”
“I do?”
“You do.”
I smile nervously. “No one’s ever told me that.”
“It’s endearing,” he says.
I pull him closer to me. “Would you have hired me?”
“In a heartbeat.”
I smile, but Cade’s eyes are distant. “What are you thinking about?”
He sighs, sinking into the couch. “Just that the business feels different these days.”
“That’s nagging at you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he says. “And I’m not sure I can ever get it back to what it once was.” He exhales deeply.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pausing for a moment. I want to encourage him not to back down, to stand for all he believes. I want to tell him that in my mind and perhaps everyone else’s, he is the reason for Element Records’ success, the heart of the business. Instead I bite my lip and just rest my head on his shoulder for a long moment.
“You know what?” he says.
“What?”
“We’ve been in love for a few months now, but we never really talk about it. For me, it means that I feel at peace when I’m in your presence,” he continues. “And…I miss you when you’re not around.”
I swallow hard.
“Sometimes it helps to channel my feelings through lyrics. You know that U2 song ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For’?”
I look into his eyes, and hum until I sing, “It was warm in the night.”
“I was cold as a stone,” he answers, completing the pair of lines at the end of the fourth verse.
He rises and pulls me onto my feet. There’s no music playing, but our bodies sway together as if there is.
“I was cold,” he says. “Cold and alone. I don’t think we know what we’re looking for until we find it,” he continues. “And then I…found you.”
I feel tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. “And I found you.”
“I was looking for you the whole time, Kailey,” he says. “I just didn’t know it.” He takes my cheeks in both hands and swallows hard. “I love you more every day,” he whispers.
I want to respond, but all I seem to be able to do is soak up his beautiful heartfelt words. I reach for his hand, but he’s already turned and walked to the window.
“It’s really coming down out there,” he says, walking back to the couch, where he picks up the wool throw draped over the arm. “I’m just going to take this out to Ivan.”
When he opens the door a stream of winter air hits my skin like light from a cold star, but it doesn’t elicit even the tiniest shiver. I am warm from the inside out.
NOVEMBER 19, 2008
I open my eyes to the sound of the coffee grinder in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Ryan says when he notices me sitting up.
I yawn and rub my eyes. “It’s okay,” I mutter groggily.
“Why didn’t you come to bed last night?” he asks.
“I got in late,” I say. The events of yesterday are coming into view now. The edges, blurred from a night’s sleep, are taking on their sharp corners again. I shudder at the thought of Cade’s wounds. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
He walks to the couch and sinks in beside me. “Next time,” he says, pressing his nose against mi
ne, “wake me, okay?”
I nod with a smile. “Okay.”
The rain splatters the windows outside, and I’m struck with the desire to hole up here for the day, or maybe forever. Light a fire in the fireplace, pray for a blizzard so we can be snowed in and I can fall into Ryan’s arms, and try not to think of the emaciated man on the fifth floor of Harborview Medical Center.
“We should get a Christmas tree this year,” I say.
“Really?” Ryan asks, flipping through a stack of mail. “Just seems like a bunch of mess and hassle, to be honest.”
“Oh,” I say, stung.
He looks up. “I mean, of course, if you want to get one, honey, we absolutely can.”
“No,” I say, “you’re right. They’re more hassle than they’re worth.”
I feel his strong arm around my waist. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was insensitive of me. I know how much you love this time of the year. Let’s go get a tree. Maybe next week.”
I smile and nod as he kisses my forehead lightly.
“Oh,” he says, changing the subject as he gets up and goes back to the kitchen to check on the coffee, “I forgot to tell you that my parents called last night. They’re flying in today.”
“Tonight?”
He comes back and joins me on the couch, handing me a steaming cup of coffee with just the right amount of half-and-half.
“Yeah.”
I frown. “I thought they weren’t coming until this weekend.”
“I know,” he continues. “I did, too. But apparently Dad scheduled a meeting earlier, and Mom decided to come with him. I can have them stay at the Fairmont if you’d rather. It’s—”
“No,” I say. No matter how stressed I may feel, these are Ryan’s parents. And while they sometimes rub me the wrong way, I haven’t lived a lifetime without parents to finally get them and then banish them to a hotel. “They’re family. They stay here.”
He smiles. “They’ll be here about nine. I thought we could have dinner with them tomorrow. I made a reservation at Earl’s on Fifth. Seven o’clock okay?”
“Yeah, I, uh, I think so,” I say, moving to top off my coffee. An enormous box of our “save the date” cards for our July wedding sits on the kitchen table. They need to be stuffed, addressed, and stamped. I pause to pick one up, remembering how I agonized over the exact shade of white for the envelopes, finally settling on “linen.” How I long to return to the time when I was stressed about stationery.
“Are we ever going to mail those babies out?” Ryan says with a grin.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I…I meant to get a start on them last week. Things have just been so hectic.”
“I can help, you know,” he says. “My handwriting isn’t that bad.”
“Of course it’s not,” I say. “And I’d love your help. We’ll get into wedding mode next week, okay?”
He nods, wrapping his arms around my waist, and grins. “You’re not stalling?”
“Definitely not stalling,” I say, smiling.
“You sure?”
I give him a quick smooch. “I’m sure.”
My phone buzzes from an incoming email, and when I glance at my in-box quickly, I recall the interview I have with a panel of developers at nine-thirty. How have I forgotten this?
“Darn,” I say to Ryan. “I have that big developer interview this morning.” I shake my head. “It’s the last thing I want to do right now, but I have to work the details of their plans into the Pioneer Square series.”
“Need me to make a few calls? Ask them to be on their best behavior? Give you an exclusive look at their architectural renderings?”
“You’re very cute,” I say, “but that would hardly be professional. I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” he says with a grin. “See you tonight.” He grabs his coat. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I whisper after he’s closed the door.
—
I arrive at a high-rise in Belltown an hour later and am ushered into a conference room with bottled water, mints, and zero personality. Five minutes pass, and five men stride in. Two are named Bob. A meek administrative assistant hovers. “Can I get you anything?” she asks in almost a whisper.
I shake my head. “No, no, I’m fine.”
One of the Bobs begins to speak. “Ms. Crain, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well,” I say curtly. The other men introduce themselves as Steve, Dan, and Phil. I am on one side of the long honey-oak conference table, alone. I reach for my purse and find my notebook and a pen. “Of course you know that I’ve been doing a series for the Herald on the future of Pioneer Square. I’m aware that each of you has been embattled with the city council about your interest in developing the neighborhood.” I flip to a page where I took notes about Creighton Properties. “Bob,” I say. “You’re proposing to tear down the shelter on Main Street. Why?”
“Simple economics,” he says. “If you build it, they will come.”
“Explain what you mean,” I say, taking notes.
“You may not remember this, but that shelter was built in 1996,” he says. “And ever since, the homeless have been flooding to the neighborhood. You can’t walk two feet without running into one of them.”
I don’t tell him that not only do I remember when the shelter was built, but Cade was living next door.
“But, Bob, you are aware that besides the shelter you’re referring to, there are very few options for displaced people in this city.”
“Displaced people?” He chuckles, and I notice the way his belly shakes. “Sweetheart, we’re talking about mostly drug addicts here. These are people who mooch off of society and refuse to work. Bottom-feeders.”
I clear my throat. “Bottom-feeders?”
“That’s right,” the other Bob says. “Now, listen. We do not have hearts of steel. If you’ve read through our proposal to the city, you’ll see that we’ve included a nice relocation package that we believe is more than adequate.”
“Relocation package?”
“Yes, yes,” the first Bob adds.
“So you’d build a new shelter elsewhere?”
“Not exactly,” one of the other men (Steve?) chimes in.
“Then what? If you tear down the shelter to build your high-rise condo, then where will the hundreds of people who rely on the shelter go?”
“How about Subway,” Phil says. “Taco Bell. McDonald’s.”
I shake my head. “I’m not following you.”
Phil smiles. “We’re talking about work, Ms. Crain. We don’t believe in handouts, we believe in work. And our plan includes a generous package geared toward attainment of this goal.”
I set my notebook down. “I get what you’re saying. And trust me, I believe in work just as much as you all do. But one thing I’ve come to learn through talking to people for this series is that homelessness is a complex problem.” I think of Cade and the countless others like him who didn’t choose a life on the streets.
Bob No. 1 shrugs. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he says. “But we do hope you’ll get our point across in your article.”
“Oh, I will,” I say, closing my notebook.
—
I call Jan on the way to Harborview. “Just got out of the developer interview.”
“How did it go?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll fill you in later. But, for now, one word: ugh.”
“You coming in today?” Jan asks.
“I’m going to be out again. Cade’s in the hospital.”
She gasps. “Oh no. Is everything okay?”
“Yes and no,” I say. “He was badly beaten. A few broken ribs, but most of his injuries were superficial. The good news is that one of the doctors thinks he may qualify for a new program for patients with traumatic brain injuries, which they suspect he has. Anyway, I’m heading back to the hospital this morning.”
“Take all the time you need,” Jan says. “I mean that.”
I exhale deeply. “You don’t know how bad I feel about leaving you in a lurch like this.” I sigh. “I feel like I’m leaving my entire life in a lurch.”
“Well, don’t worry about the work part of this lurch just now,” she says. “I mean, don’t go MIA entirely on me. But take a few days to sort things out. I’ll cover you until then.”
“Thanks,” I say as I pull into the parking garage.
“Have you told Ryan?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m afraid to.”
“You should tell him, Kailey,” Jan says. “He deserves to know.”
—
Cade is awake when I enter his room. The walls look dingier in the morning light. I suppose no amount of paint can cover the stain of illness.
“Hi,” I say, walking to his bedside. In his lap are the iPod and headphones I left with him. I wonder if he enjoyed the music. He doesn’t look up. “Have you eaten?”
He stares straight ahead as I reach for the phone on the table beside him.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m with Cade McAllister in room 502. Has he eaten anything this morning?”
“Oh yes,” the nurse says. “Mr. McAllister. We brought him breakfast an hour ago, but he refused.”
I look at Cade, so thin, so lost. “What did you bring him?”
“Let me check,” she says, sounding a little annoyed. I hear papers shuffling in the background. “Ah, yes, oatmeal. And prunes. With milk.”
“He hates oatmeal,” I say.
“Well, that’s what our dietitian recommends for patients with broken ribs,” she says. “Bowel movements should remain soft. You have to avoid—”
“I’d like you to bring him scrambled eggs and toast,” I say. “With Tabasco. He loves Tabasco.”
“I’ll see what they can do,” the woman says.
A half hour later, a young woman from the cafeteria arrives with a tray. She smiles at me as she sets it down on Cade’s table.
“Thank you,” I say as she leaves.
I take my sweater off and set it on the chair by the window, then walk over to Cade’s bed again and lift the metal dome on top of the plate. Eggs and toast. I’m grateful to see a small bottle of Tabasco on the tray, and I sprinkle a few drops over the eggs and reach for a fork.
