by Vesper Young
“Gosh, has it been seven months, honey? Time flies! I gotta admit something, Fred.” She leaned conspiratorially towards his hospital bed. “You did not teach your son to be the charmer you are!”
The offhand remark deflated my father. He got that same far-off look in his eye when he thinks about the past. “There’s a lot I didn’t teach him.”
“Well, he seems to have inherited your work ethic, but let me tell you, his teamwork is awful. Abysmal, really.”
“Dear, are you saying I’m not a team player?” In fairness, that was an understatement. But my voice held a warning note. What loving girlfriend would say that?
She looked at me, unphased. “Remember the Employee Olympics?”
I remembered. Someone on the board did a favor to some consulting group and had them use our department as guinea pigs for some bonding activity. We’d killed a Saturday at the park playing useless games. I remembered being irked because it was time I could’ve been doing meaningful work, but with my father recently sick I couldn’t afford to risk our “approachable CEO” face. He couldn’t go, so I stayed the full time. I hadn’t liked it.
“Well, let me tell you, Fred, Deacon could not do a trust fall. Just refused.”
“What? Yes, I did.” Reluctantly.
She rolled her eyes. “You slowly resigned yourself to sitting on the grass rather than risk someone dropping you.” She turned back towards my father. “Anyway, when we packed up on Monday I told him what I thought about his sad excuses for trust falls. I wanted to show him it was no big deal, right? So I let him catch me.”
I stared at her, amazed at the yarn she was pulling out from her ear.
“And it worked, at first. I fell, he put his arms out, and then the second I hit them he pulled them back. So I had my own slow thunk on the ground.”
“Deacon!” My father sounded scandalized.
She waved his concern away. “Anyway, as penance, he did a full fall with me. And I did catch him. And one thing lead to another, we had dinner, and then went back to business as usual. But I just couldn’t stay away. Something about his big strong arms kept pulling me back in.”
She winked at me. I was speechless. It was the perfect combination of flirty, humorous, and quirky enough to be true. How she’d come up with it on the fly, I didn’t know.
And her favorite flower is tulips. At least I was doing my part in this charade.
I missed whatever exchange happened because the next thing I noticed was Mindy beginning to shuffle a deck of cards.
I’d never much liked cards. Cards were for poker, and poker was for old boys’ clubs that needed to be schmoozed in the most tedious fashion possible. Outside of that, they were just a vice people wasted time on. But then, of course, I remembered. Mindy was a begrudging ally in this because of her excessive credit card debt, probably stemming from greed. What was another vice?
But then again, cards meant no talking which meant to more blatant fabrication of our so-called relationship.
“What’s the game?” I asked.
She explained to both of us it was called Auction. I’d never heard of it, but it involved bidding so it wasn’t terrible. It took a while to learn the rules but once we picked it up the hands went by fast. She was a fierce player, and I could tell I vexed her by matching every bid. Every round, we played savagely, while my father seemed content to his absent-minded plays. It was utterly unlike the stiff poker I was accustomed to.
Eventually, it was clear my father was getting tired. I knew if he was given half a chance he’d keep us in his room all day until he was certain I wouldn’t screw up this relationship, but I had to get back to the office. We said our goodbyes and Mindy insisted he keep the deck we’d been using.
Inside the elevator, I felt the urge to thank Mindy. She’d played the part well with her teasing and charming facade. I opened my mouth to do so when I heard the unabashed rumble of an empty stomach. Given that there were only two of us in the small space and it hadn’t come from me… I glanced at my watch. Almost half-past twelve.
“Let me get us lunch.” It was an impulsive offer that would set us back, but what was another half hour? Somehow, for once, I wasn’t in a rush to go back to work.
Mindy 8
The past twenty-four hours had been probably the most bizarre of my life. I’d gone from only the most perfunctory exchanges with my boss to dinner at a fancy restaurant, to signing a contract to pretend to be his girlfriend for a few hours, to acting as said girlfriend in a hospital room the size of my studio apartment with my company’s founder, to having a quick lunch with Deacon at a packed hole-in-the-wall pub.
I wondered if I was supposed to go back to calling him Mr. Blake once midnight hit.
The hostess placed us at a corner booth. Deacon slid in first, but with his size there wasn’t much room for me. Under the table, our knees touched and I felt oddly irked by how aware I was of that small contact point.
Deacon turned towards me. This close, I had nowhere to look but his face. I couldn’t read his expression. Personally, I’d thought we’d done pretty well considering neither of us was particularly fond of the other, but over the past few hours that seemed to have changed too. Not much. He was still a jerk. But he was a jerk for a reason, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet.
“How’d you learn to be a card shark?”
I laughed. “My grandmother taught me. Now, I always carry a deck. You never know when the subway is gonna stall or you’re gonna finish your last book while the library is closed.”
“So it’s a hobby, like sewing?”
So he’d been listening when I told him my interests last night. That surprised me. I had thought it was just standard small talk to be discarded for more important business information. “Just some low-tech fun.”
I didn’t feel like mentioning since I couldn’t afford wi-fi f as the more essential amenities like electricity and water, it made for about as much entertainment as I could afford.
I didn’t want to tell him that. He knew how much my rent was, according to his rundown of my financial situation last night. The memory tasted sour. I didn’t want him to know anything else on that end.
I looked around for our hostess, hoping to order quickly, but with the place being packed it would take a while. If I was honest, I was surprised my workaholic boss would take the extra time because my stomach growled. But then again, he probably expected I’d stay late to catch up on any work I’d missed.
“How long has he been hospitalized?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
“Six months.”
That about matched the last few times I’d seen him around the office. On those occasions, he’d seemed stern and powerful. Honestly, he’d seemed like an older version of Deacon. Completely unlike the way he’d been today, happy to joke and effusively polite while we’d played cards and spoken.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“Average expectancy is under four months.” His voice was flat, and I prepared to change the topic. Deacon surprised me by continuing. “The issue is it’s practically asymptomatic until later stages, and by then there isn’t much the doctors can do.”
“Is there a chance of recovery?”
Deacon signed. “For some. The survival rate increases slightly every year. But it’s too late for my father.”
“I really am sorry, Deacon.”
“He’s in a tremendous amount of pain. Though this time he was so livened you could almost miss it.”
He’d seemed exuberant, in an elderly way. “Because he thought you were with someone?”
Deacon nodded.
“I’m surprised you couldn’t find any of your other girlfriends to introduce to him,” I remarked in a (mostly) light-hearted way.
“Girlfriends? I don’t have time to date.”
True, the hours he insisted on working almost precluded a social life. Still… “Did you forget you have me make your reservations? Who was it last, Rose Dukas at some Greek pla
ce on the West Side?”
He rolled his eyes as if insulted. “And the Monday after we signed with Dukas Shipping. That’s how the game is played. If I need to take Daddy Dukas’s princess who only got her job because of nepotism out on the town to secure a contract, that’s what I’ll do.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Nepotism? Don’t you work at your father’s company as a C-level executive?” I ignored the fact he had, in fact, taken me out to dinner last night to secure a contract.
He let out a derisive scoff. “I worked hard to get here, and I’m not here for a cushy salary to impress the other socialites. I put in the hours just like everyone else, if not more.”
“Hmm, and what did you make when you started here out of university?”
Deacon didn’t have to answer since the waitress arrived at that moment to take our order. We both got burgers. Hopefully, they’d be quick.
I reconsidered the thought. Oddly, I didn’t feel like I was in such a rush to get back to the office. What would happen then? These barbed conversations were the most sincere I’d had with Deacon, and I was kind of enjoying them.
We switched to lighter topics. Away from the office or a prospective deal, I found him a lot more down to earth. Our burgers came which we devoured, and at the same time Deacon requested the check, handing over his credit card.
I had mixed feelings about him paying. The five thousand combined with my paycheck would give me enough leeway to cover my half. Even if it wasn’t prudent to spend the money, I hated the feeling of him spending money to “treat” me. I pulled out a twenty and handed it to him, but he waved it away.
“I’ve got it.”
The waitress returned with his card.
“Let me leave the tip,” I insisted. I could afford that.
Again, he waved my money away. “Mindy, it’s nothing. We consulted with the CEO of the company. I expensed it.”
I glared daggers at the card. The “expense card” looked a lot like his regular credit card. I knew the difference since he gave me a specific one to make airline arrangements.
By the time we reached the door, Deacon had called the company car and it was waiting. He slid in the back and looked at me.
Since the car was already here, I saw no harm in going next to him. We’d had an okay time together, whatever the circumstances.
But it seemed the brief warmth came to an end. There was no tangible shift in our behavior, yet I acutely felt the yawning gap spreading between us. He didn’t have to tell me the moment we returned to the office, we were Mr. Blake and Ms. Killip again. Executive and secretary. Once the five thousand went to Wilmot, this would all be forgotten.
Deacon 9
I went to see my father again the Thursday after I’d gone with Mindy. I’d made the mistake of telling him I’d be by “after work” instead of “at eight o’clock.” Somehow my father forgot I was the five-to-nine rather than nine-to-five sort.
My father peered behind me as I entered the room. I glanced back, trying to see what he was looking at. There was nothing.
“Where’s Mindy?”
Where was Mindy Killip? Home, presumably. We’d left at the same time. Of course, the question wasn’t where was my secretary but rather, where was my supposed serious girlfriend who had come last week and brightened the experience to a bearable degree.
I shrugged.
He deflated slightly but recovered. I noticed Donna’s flowers had begun to wilt. Nothing else was changed in the room for me to use as small talk fodder, so I went to the more comfortable topic of work. Usually, that had been our language. Seducing investors, analyzing clients, and assessing the disposition of the board.
I ignored the last topic. At the moment the board was less than thrilled with our progress, but when your CEO is the face of the company and that face is no longer around, morale takes a hit. At first, he’d tried to show up twice a week, then once a week, then every other week. Now it was blatantly too painful.
Blake Enterprises had been his lifeblood for decades. Not coming in probably aged him even more than the cancer had. The company was his soul and his legacy. I was proud of that legacy, and staying late and managing the board were my ways of defending it.
I tried discussing a more demanding client. It would let him feel like he was still involved with his company. It fell flat. My father was uncommonly disinterested. He changed the subject.
“What made you hire Mindy?”
I was unprepared for the topic. “She’s who HR provided me with.”
He gave me a look. “Son, you have a reputation for being a difficult taskmaster.” He let out a hoarse laugh, but it turned to a cough. “You’ve gone through assistants like Donna goes through thin-mints.”
Donna went through a box a day during Girl Scout season.
“I need someone who can work the hours I work. A secretary is no good if they aren’t around when I need them.”
“A husband’s no good if he isn’t there when his wife needs him,” he countered.
Woah. “Husband?”
My dad gave me a shrewd look. “It’ll happen. Though maybe not if you keep working like this. But that’s beside the point. What made Mindy different?”
I didn’t have much of an answer. “I never fired anybody. They all quit. Mindy hasn’t quit.” Yet. Then again, she probably couldn’t afford to. My P.I. had shown me a summary of her debt and interest rates. I was no accountant, but I was comfortable with money. She was in a hole with little hope of seeing daylight in the next decade.
“That girl is no quitter. Though I imagine the fact you’re there is a draw.” He gave me a happy smile.
I tried to return it. “Guess so.”
I left shortly after that. It was hard to keep pretending we were together, especially when it was now a one-man show. Mercifully, the visiting hours were ending soon. Of course, given what I paid for this suite, the restrictions existed in name only. Tonight I was willing to pretend otherwise. What was one more lie?
I decided to call Mindy. It was a bit impulsive, but the visits were so much more palatable with her there, playing cards, smiling, joking, and talking to Dad about something other than investors. Her number was programmed into my phone, though I’d never used it. If I did work at home, it wasn’t typically anything I needed a secretary for. I pressed the button.
It didn’t ring, just went straight to voicemail. Her phone had to be dead. Irksome. No reason she couldn’t have charged it since getting home. Or was she one of those people that turned their phone off while they slept? A glance at my watch told me it wasn’t that late.
***
“Why is your phone dead?” were my first words to Mindy the next morning.
She’d come in early, at eight. I’d been irate and unable to sleep well, so I’d come in at six.
She blinked at me. Her eyes were still half bleary with sleep. I saw the transformation into work-mode. Her back straightened, her chin jutted slightly, and she looked in my direction like I was a gorilla behind the glass at a zoo.
“What’s the issue, Mr. Blake?” Her voice was impeccably polite.
“I tried calling you last night and your phone was dead. I want to know why.”
“Why were you trying to call me?” She walked towards her desk and hung her sweater.
I followed. “I wanted to speak about expanding our… arrangement.”
Her eyes snapped towards me. The cool, professional sheen gave way momentarily towards anger. What was she so upset about?
“I’d like you to come with me again to see my father and wanted to call to discuss details. Same terms apply.” I’d made sure the contract had enough elasticity built in to allow indefinite repeats.
“Oh, you mean the terms where you put five thousand towards my debts to get the collectors off my back? The five thousand that I haven’t gotten so Wilmot started calling every twenty minutes and the rest joined in, so even when I put my phone on silent it was unusable and I had to take the battery out
, but now it crashes every time I try to turn it on so it’s effectively broken? Those terms?”
I balked. Admittedly, I’d overlooked getting the details and authorizing the transfer, but I hadn’t realized how bad it was.
“Fine,” I said. “Tell me which collections accounts you want the money to go into in which quantities and I’ll do it.”
She signed and turned towards her desk, muttering to herself that it would still take forever for the money to hit. I got the irritating sense I’d been dismissed.
Whatever. I went back to my office.
Five minutes later, I got an email that began with “To Mr. Blake” and ended with “Thank you terribly much for your timely assistance” that detailed how she wanted the money allocated. I could feel her seething through the email.
I sighed. It had been bad practice to let my side of the deal slide, even by a few days. I called up my accountant to see about making the transfer and told him I didn’t care how he did it, I wanted the money paid out and processed today. Once that happened, I wanted a confirmation message I could forward Mindy as proof I was good for my word.
The hours passed quickly once I was in the zone. I loved my work. The pride that went into signing off on projects, in saying “This is us. We’re the best. Be glad you had us on your team and come again.” I spent an hour following up on my previous follow-ups that had been replied to since the rest of the business world was now awake.
After what felt like minutes, I glanced at the time displayed. It was quarter after twelve, firmly in the company-wide lunch hour. Normally, I worked through it. I glanced through the blinds of my office and saw Mindy at her desk. She didn’t usually go out either, though she did usually eat. Today, I noticed she had nothing.
Well, I was entitled to an hour break like everyone else. With that thought, I grabbed my jacket and left the office.
***
I returned forty-five minutes later. Mindy glanced at me then looked back at her computer monitor.
I held two bags. One held two meatball subs. Since I hadn’t known what she liked, I ordered the same thing I was getting for her. The other held the latest smartphone.
