“We’re nothing alike,” Lou spat, looking back down at the elevators to Gabe.
But Gabe was gone.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened, like welcoming arms ready to embrace the next guest. But there was nobody there. It waited, but nobody entered, and so it crossed its arms in a huff, and descended again.
CHAPTER 11
The Juggler
AT FIVE P.M., EXACTLY THE same time that Lou should have been leaving work in order to get home for Lucy’s school play, he instead paced the floor of his office. Something Gabe had said had made him rethink his decision to miss the play; he couldn’t think what exactly, and all he could feel was a ball of guilt nestled somewhere near his heart and his gut. It was an unfamiliar feeling. His office door was wide open, prepared for his eventual catapult launch down the corridor into Mr. Patterson’s office, where he would announce he was unable to meet Bruce Archer for coffee. Not unlike Mr. Patterson, he too had family commitments. Tonight his daughter was going to be a leaf. But the thought of doing so made him weaken at the knees. Each time he reached the doorway he stopped short, and instead turned around and continued his pacing around his desk.
Gabe. Bloody Gabe. How on Earth had he allowed that man to get inside his head? He didn’t care what Gabe thought about him. Gabe didn’t know how Lou was with his family. Gabe didn’t know how his family felt about him. He didn’t know all the good things he did for them. The expensive holidays, the lavish gifts at Christmas.
Lou would do his job tonight without guilt. Just like he did every day.
He calmed himself and sat at his desk. Just as he prepared to call Alison to instruct her to pass on the message of his important meeting to his wife, he heard Alison call out cheerily, “Hi, Gabe.”
Lou froze, and then for reasons unknown, found himself rushing behind the door, where he stood with his back to the wall and listened to their conversation through the open door.
“Hi, Alison.”
“You look smart today, Gabe.”
“Thanks. Mr. Patterson has asked me to do a few jobs for him around here, so I thought it would be a good idea to look a bit more respectable.”
Lou peeked through the gap in the hinges of the door and spied Gabe, his new haircut combed neatly like Lou’s. A new dark suit was draped over his shoulder and covered in plastic.
“You’re working for Mr. Patterson? Wow, congratulations. So is the new suit part of the job?” Alison asked.
“Oh, this? This is just for me to have. You never know when a suit will come in handy.” He smiled. “Anyway, I’m here to give you these for Lou. I think they’re plans.”
“But Lou just asked Mr. Patterson for these five minutes ago. How did you get them from the architect so quickly?” Alison checked the plans, confusion written across her face.
“Oh, I don’t know, I just, you know…” Lou could see Gabe’s shoulders shrugging.
“No, I don’t know,” Alison laughed. “But I wish I did. Keep working like this, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Patterson gives you Lou’s job.”
They laughed and Lou bristled, making a note to make Alison’s life hell right after this conversation.
“Is Lou in right now?”
“Yes, he is. Why?”
“Is he going to meet with Bruce Archer today?”
“Yes. At least I think so. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Just wondering.”
“Why, what’s going on?” She lowered her voice. “What’s the big deal about this evening? Lou’s been acting funny about it. It’s almost like he has a conscience about not going to his daughter’s play.” She giggled.
That was it. Lou couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his office door, no doubt startling them both. Then he sat down at his desk and picked up the phone.
“Yes?” Alison answered.
“Get me Harry from the mailroom on the phone, and after that call Ronan Pearson and check with him to see if Gabe collected the plans from him personally. Do this without Gabe’s knowing. And then we’ll have a talk about that conscience of mine,” he snapped.
“Oh.” She paused, embarrassed, then composed herself. “Yes, of course, just one moment, please,” she said in her best telephone voice. “I’ll connect you.”
Lou adjusted his tie, cleared his throat, and spun around in his oversized leather chair to face the window. The day was cold but crisp, and there wasn’t a breeze as holiday shoppers rushed to and fro, their arms laden with bags amid the flashing colors of numerous neon signs.
“Yello,” Harry barked.
“Harry, it’s Lou.”
“What?” Harry shouted, machines and voices so loud behind him, Lou had no choice but to speak up. He looked around to make sure he was still alone before speaking. “It’s Lou, Harry.”
“Lou who?”
“Suffern.”
“Oh, Lou, hi, how can I help you? Your mail end up on twelve again?”
“No, no, I got it, thanks.”
“Good. That new boy you sent my way is a genius, isn’t he?”
“He is?”
“Gabe? Absolutely. Everyone’s calling me with nothing but good reviews. It’s like he fell from the stars, I’m telling you. And he couldn’t have come at a better time, that’s no word of a lie. We were struggling, you know that. In all of my years in this job, this Christmas season is the wildest. Everything’s getting faster and faster. Well, it must be, because it’s not me that’s getting slower, that’s for sure. You picked a good one, Lou. I owe you. So how can I help you today?”
“Well, about Gabe,” Lou said slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. “You know he’s taken on some other commitments in the building. Other work outside of the mailroom.”
“I heard that all right, and I’m happy for him. He was as excited as anything this morning. Got a new suit and all on his break. I don’t know where he found the time to get it; some of them in here can’t even light their cigarette in that time. He’s quick, that boy. Mr. Patterson seems to have taken a shine to him. I’d say it won’t be long before he’s out of here and up there with you.”
“Yeah…anyway, I was just calling to let you know. I didn’t want it to conflict with his work with you.” Lou tried one more time. “You wouldn’t want him to be distracted, with his mind on the other things he’s doing for us. You know? It gets so manic up here, and we certainly don’t want any problems.”
“I appreciate that, Lou, but what he does after one p.m. is his own business. To be honest with you, I’m glad he’s found something else. He gets his job done so quickly, it’s a struggle to keep him busy.”
“Right. Okay. So, if he acts up in any way, you just go ahead and do what you have to do, Harry. I don’t want you to feel in any way obligated to keep him on for me. You know?”
“I know that, Lou, I do. He’s a good lad; you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. Thanks. Take care, Harry.”
The phone went dead. Lou sighed and slowly spun around in his chair to replace the receiver. As he turned, he came face-to-face with Gabe, who was standing behind his desk and watching him intently.
Lou jumped, dropped the receiver, and let out a yelp. “Jesus Christ.” He held his hand over his pounding heart.
“No. It’s just me,” Gabe said, blue eyes searing into Lou’s.
“Have you ever heard of knocking? Where’s Alison?” Lou leaned sideways to check her desk and saw that it was empty. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.” Gabe’s voice was soft, and it was that which unnerved Lou most. “Trying to get me in trouble, Lou?”
“What?” Lou’s heart pounded wildly, still unrecovered from the surprise, and also alarmingly discomfited by Alison’s absence and Gabe’s proximity. The man’s very presence disconcerted him.
“No.” He swallowed, and he hated himself for his sudden weakness. “I just called Harry to see if he was happy with you. That’s all.” He was aware of the fact that he sounded like
a schoolboy defending himself.
“And is he?”
“As it turns out, yes. But you must understand how I feel a responsibility to him for finding you.”
“Finding me,” Gabe said with a curious smile.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing.” Gabe continued to smile and began looking around Lou’s office, hands in his pockets, with that same patronizing look that was neither jealousy nor admiration.
“It’s five twenty-two p.m. and thirty-three seconds now,” Gabe said, not even looking at his watch. “Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six…” He turned to Lou. “You get the idea.”
“So?” Lou stood up and put on his suit jacket and caught a glimpse at his watch to make sure. It was five twenty-two, on the nose.
“You have to leave now, don’t you?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Gabe wandered over to Lou’s side and picked up three pieces of fruit from the bowl there — two oranges and an apple — which he inspected closely, one by one. “Decisions, decisions,” he said. He held the three pieces of fruit in his hands.
“Hungry?” Lou asked, agitated.
“No,” Gabe laughed. “You any good at juggling?”
That same feeling struck Lou’s heart, and he realized exactly what it was that he didn’t like about Gabe. It was questions like that, statements and comments that pierced Lou somewhere other than where they should.
“You’d better get that,” Gabe added.
“Get what?”
Before Gabe could respond, the phone rang, and, despite his preferring Alison to screen his calls, he dove for it.
It was Ruth.
“Hi, honey.” He motioned to Gabe for privacy, but Gabe didn’t leave and began juggling the fruit instead. Lou turned his back, and then, feeling uncomfortable with Gabe behind him, he faced forward again to keep an eye on his visitor. He lowered his voice. “Em, yeah, about tonight, something’s come up and — ”
“Lou, don’t do this to me,” Ruth said.
“It’s just the play I won’t make, sweetheart.”
Gabe dropped the apple, which rolled across the carpet toward Lou’s desk, and continued juggling with the oranges. Lou felt a childish sense of satisfaction that Gabe had failed.
“Lucy’s heart will be broken,” Ruth said sadly.
“Lucy won’t even notice I’m not there, the place will be so dark. You can tell her I was there. Mr. Patterson asked me to meet with a client of ours. It’s a big deal, and it could help with my getting Cliff’s job, you know?”
“I know, I know. And then if you do get a promotion, you’ll be away from us even more. Anyway, I don’t want to get into this conversation now. So you’ll make it home for dinner? Your mum just rang on the phone saying how much she’s looking forward to it. You know, it’s already been a month since you’ve seen them.”
“It’s not been a month. I saw Dad just” — he went quiet while calculating the time in his head — “well, maybe it’s almost been a month.”
A month? How the time had flown. For Lou, visiting his parents was a chore, like making the bed. After he had not done it for some time, the sight of the untidy blankets would play on his mind until he went to get it over and done with. He’d feel an instant sense of satisfaction it had been completed. But then he’d wake up the next day and know he had to go and do it all over again. The thought of his father complaining about how long it’d been since Lou’s last visit made Lou want to run in the other direction. It made him feel guilty, but it also made him want to stay away longer.
“I might not make dinner, but I’ll be there for dessert. You have my word on that.”
Gabe dropped an orange, and Lou felt like punching his fist in the air in celebration. Instead, he pursed his lips and continued to make excuses to Ruth for everything, refusing to apologize for something that was totally out of his control. Lou finally hung up the phone and folded his arms across his chest.
“What’s so funny?” Gabe asked, throwing the one remaining orange up and down in his hand.
“Not such a good juggler, are you?” Lou smirked.
“Touché.” Gabe smiled. “You’re very observant. Indeed, I’m not a good juggler, but it’s not really juggling if I’d already chosen to drop those others and keep this one in my hand, is it?”
Lou frowned at the peculiar response and busied himself at his desk, putting on his overcoat and preparing to leave.
“No, Gabe, it’s certainly not juggling if you choose…” He stopped suddenly, realizing what he was saying and hearing Ruth’s voice in his head. His head snapped up, feeling that cold chill again, but Gabe was gone and the orange was left on his desk.
“Alison.” Lou marched out of his office with the orange in his hand. “Did Gabe just walk out of here?”
“Em…” she said slowly. “He came up to my desk about twenty minutes ago and — ”
“Yeah, yeah, I know all that. He was in my office a second ago and then he was gone. Just now. Did he walk by?”
“Well, he must have, but — ”
“Did you see him?”
“No, I was on the phone and — ”
“Jesus.” He punched the desk, startling Alison. “By the way” — he dropped his voice and leaned in closer — “does any of my mail ever come to me under a different name?”
“What do you mean?” She frowned.
“You know — ” He looked left and right and barely moved his lips as he spoke. “Aloysius,” he mumbled.
“Aloysius?” she said loudly.
He threw his eyes up. “Keep it down,” he hissed.
“No.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve never seen the name Aloysius on any of the mail.” Then she smiled, snorted, and started laughing. “Why the hell would there be Aloy — ”
At his look, her words disappeared and her smile faded. “Oh. Oh dear. That’s a” — her voice went an octave higher — “lovely name.”
LOU WALKED ACROSS THE NEWLY constructed Seán O’Casey pedestrian bridge that linked the two rejuvenated north and south quays — the North Wall Quay and Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. One hundred meters across the bridge brought him to his destination, the Ferryman, the only authentic pub left on this stretch. It wasn’t a place for cappuccinos or ciabattas, and because of that the clientele was specific. The bar contained a handful of Christmas shoppers who’d wandered off the beaten track to take a break and to wrap their purple-fingered hands around heated glasses. The rest of the place was filled with workers, young and old, winding down after their day’s work. Suits filled the seats, pints and shorts filled the surfaces. It was just after six p.m., and people had already escaped the business district for their nearest place of solace, to worship at the altar of beers on tap.
Bruce Archer was one such person, propped at the bar with Guinness in hand, roaring with laughter over something somebody beside him had said. All around him were suits. Shoulder pads to shoulder pads. Pinstripes and polished shoes and briefcases containing spreadsheets, pie charts, and forward-looking market predictions. None of them were drinking coffee. Lou should have known. But as he watched them backslapping and laughing loudly, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised. So, really, he had known all along.
Bruce turned around and spotted him. “Lou!” he shouted across the room in his heavy Boston accent. “Lou Suffern! Good to see ya!” He stood from the stool, walked toward Lou with his hand extended, and then, gripping Lou’s hand firmly, pumped it up and down while thumping him enthusiastically on the back. “Let me introduce you to the guys. Guys, this is Lou, Lou Suffern, works at Patterson Developments…” And so Lou was lost in a sea of introductions, forgetting each name the second he heard it and pushing the image of his wife and daughter out of his head each time he shook a firm, clammy, or limp hand. He tried to forget that he had forsaken his family for this. He tried to forget as they pooh-poohed his order of coffee and instead filled him with beer, as they ignored his attempt
to leave after one pint. Then after the second. And again after the third. Tired of a fight each time a round arrived, he let them change his order to a Jack Daniel’s, and as his cell phone rang he also let their adolescent jeers keep him from answering. And then, after all that, they needed to convince him no more. He was there with them for the long haul, with his phone on silent and vibrating every ten minutes with a call from Ruth. He knew at this point that Ruth would understand; if she didn’t, then she was an extremely unreasonable person.
Then there was a girl catching his eye across the bar; then there was another whiskey and Coke on the counter. All sense and reason had gone outside with the bar patrons having a smoke, and it was shivering out there, half thinking of hailing a taxi, half looking around for someone to take it home and love it. And then, too cold and frustrated, sense turned on reason and resorted to fisticuffs outside the bar, while Lou turned his back and took sole care of his ambition.
CHAPTER 12
Home Sweet Home
LOU REALIZED HE WAS FAR too drunk to chat up the attractive woman in the bar who had been eyeing him all night, when, in the process of joining her table, he stumbled over his own feet and managed to knock her friend’s drink into her lap. Not the pretty one’s lap, just her friend’s. And while he mumbled something he thought was highly smooth and clever, it was obvious she thought it was sleazy and offensive. For there was a fine line between sleazy and sexy when you’d had as much to drink as Lou Suffern. He appeared to have lost the swagger of charm and sophistication that he’d possessed in heaps when he had first walked in this evening. His crisp white shirt and tie were now stained with whiskey and Coke, and his blue eyes, which usually had hypnotic effects, were now bloodshot and glassy. And so, too drunk to get anywhere with her — or her friend — the more sensible option seemed to be to walk back to his car. And drive home.
When he reached the cold and dark basement parking lot underneath his office building — a walk that took twenty minutes longer than it should have — he realized he had forgotten where he’d parked. He circled the center of the lot, pressing the button on his key and hoping the sound of the alarm or the flashing lights would give it away. Finally seeing the car lights, he closed one eye and focused on making his way to his Porsche.
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