Two by Two(14)

Without waiting for an answer, she led the way to the dining room and  pulled out both suits-one gray and one black-draping them over the  chairs. "What do you think?"

"They're very stylish," I said. I tried to avoid the sight of the price  tags but I couldn't help it. My stomach did another flip-flop, then  flopped again. Dollar signs danced in my head.

"The fabric is fabulous and I love the cut," she said. "And I got these,  as well, to go with them." Reaching for another bag, she pulled out  four blouses, setting them first against one suit, then the other. "The  blouses match both suits-I was trying to save as much money as I could."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Instead: "I'm still a little confused  as to how the interviews came about. Last I heard, you were just  putting out feelers."

"I got lucky," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"I called Rob a couple of weeks back and told him I was thinking about  getting back into the PR game and he promised he'd let me know if he  heard of anything. After that, I called my old boss from New York.  Remember him?"

I nodded, wondering why she even needed to ask. We saw the guy practically every night before turning off the television.

"Anyway, he said he'd see what he could do. I didn't expect much, but I  guess he talked to his manager, and his manager ended up calling me  back. And, it just so happens that he knew a guy who knew a guy, and I  guess my name got passed along to the right people because last Monday, I  was talking to one of the vice presidents about a job and she asked me  to put in a résumé and three letters of recommendation."

"You've been working on this since Monday? And never mentioned it?"

"I didn't think it would amount to anything."

"It sounds to me like you had to have some idea this might be coming."

"Oh, please. Like I could have predicted any of this." She began laying  the blouses over one of the chairs. "And anyway, I had to scramble for a  third recommendation. I wanted someone locally prominent, but I wasn't  sure he'd agree. But sure enough, he came through and I got my paperwork  in by Wednesday."

"And you said the job is in PR?"

"I'd be working directly for the CEO, not so much the company. I guess  he does a lot of press conferences and interviews. A lot of his  developments are on the coast, and environmentalists are always up in  arms. Plus, he's got a super PAC now, and he's getting more involved in  politics and wants to make sure he's always on message."

"Who's the CEO?"

She paused, running her fingers along one of the suits. "Before I tell  you, just keep in mind that I haven't even been offered the job yet. And  I don't know whether I'd take it, even if they do offer me a position. I  don't have all the details yet."         

     



 

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I don't want you to get upset."

"Why would I be upset?"

She began slipping the bags back over the suits. "Because you know him.  Actually, you've worked on some of the advertising campaigns for his  company."

I connected the dots almost immediately. "It's not Walter Spannerman, is it?"

She seemed almost sheepish. "Actually, it is."

I remembered how miserable he'd made me; I also remembered his penchant  for hiring beautiful women, so the fact that he was interested in Vivian  didn't shock me in the slightest. "You know he's awful, right? And so  is his company."

"That's why he wants an in-house PR person."

"And you'd be okay working with a guy like that?"

"I don't know. I haven't met him yet. I just hope I can impress him."

With the way you look, I'm sure he'll be impressed, I thought. "How many hours a week are they thinking?"

"Well, that's the thing," she answered. "It's a full-time position. And there's probably going to be some travel, too."

"Overnight?"

"That's what travel usually means, doesn't it?"

"What about London?"

"I don't know anything yet, okay? Let's cross that bridge when we get  there. If we get there. For now, can we just plan to celebrate? Can you  do that for me?"

"Of course," I said, but even as I said the words, I thought about  Spannerman and his relationship with Peters and found myself wondering  who exactly Vivian had called for that final recommendation.

But she wouldn't have done something like that, would she?





CHAPTER 5





Changes


When London was four, a small bicycle with training wheels appeared  under the Christmas tree. I'd been adamant about getting her a bicycle;  some of my favorite childhood memories were of pedaling hard on my  Schwinn, chasing my freedom on humid summer days. Granted, most of those  memories occurred between the ages of eight and thirteen, but my  thinking as the holidays approached was that London would learn to ride  for a year or two before the training wheels finally came off, and in a  few years, she would ride as well as I had.

Vivian, however, wasn't thrilled with the idea. Though she'd owned a  bicycle, she didn't have the same joyful associations that I did. I  remembered asking her if she'd bought the bicycle in the weeks leading  up to Christmas and each time she put me off, telling me that she hadn't  had time. In the end, I'd dragged her to the store and bought it  myself, spending hours assembling it like one of Santa's elves after  Vivian had gone to bed.

I couldn't wait for London to give it a try, and as soon as she spotted  it under the tree, she ran over and I helped her climb on. As I began to  push her through the living room Vivian intervened, suggesting that we  open some of her other gifts. As always, my first thought was that she  received too many things: clothes and toys, finger-painting kits, a  mannequin (to dress up), and a beaded jewelry – making kit. Then there  were countless Barbie-related items; it took me an hour to dispose of  the wrapping paper and ribbons strewn throughout the room. Vivian,  meanwhile, spent that time with London and her toys and clothes, and it  wasn't until almost noon that I was finally able to get London outside.

Vivian had followed us, but it struck me that she seemed to view it more  as a duty than a new and exciting adventure for London. She stood on  the front steps with her arms crossed while I helped London onto the  seat. Watching her breaths come out in little puffs, I walked hunched  over beside her, holding the handlebars. I encouraged London to pedal as  we rolled up and down the street, and after fifteen minutes, she told  me she was done. Her cheeks were pink and I assured her she'd done a  great job. I'm not sure why, but I assumed that we'd ride two or three  more times before the day was done.

Instead, she spent the rest of Christmas Day playing with her Barbies or  trying on her clothes while Vivian beamed; later, she finger painted  and assembled a pair of beaded bracelets. I wasn't dissuaded, however; I  had the week off, and I made it a point to bring her out to ride at  least once a day. Over the next few days, as she grew more coordinated  and less wobbly, I would release the handlebars for periods of  increasing duration. London giggled when I pretended she was going so  fast that I couldn't keep up. We stayed out longer each time, and when  she finally announced that she was finished, I would hold her hand as we  walked toward the front door. She would jabber on excitedly to Vivian,  and I was certain that London had caught the same bicycle-riding bug  that I had and would insist on riding every day while I was at work.         

     



 

But that didn't happen. Instead, when I came home from work-by then it  would be dark and London would often be in her pajamas-and asked London  if she rode, she always said that she hadn't. Each time, Vivian had a  reason for not bringing her out-it was raining, or they had errands to  run, or London might be getting a cold, or even that London didn't want  to. Still, after work when I'd park in the garage, I'd see the little  bicycle that made my daughter laugh, collecting dust in the corner. And  every single time, I felt a faint ache in my heart. I must not know my  daughter as well as I thought I did, or perhaps London and I simply  liked different things. And though I'm not proud to admit it, I  sometimes found myself wondering whether Vivian didn't want London to  ride her bike simply because it was something I wanted London to do.





In retrospect, I think I believed that quitting my job would be the most  significant event of 2015 for my wife and me. I ended up being wrong,  of course; striking out on my own was simply the first domino in a long  line of dominoes that would begin to topple, with even larger dominoes  to come later.

The following week was domino number two.

Because Vivian wanted to prep for her interviews on Monday, I came home  from the office at noon. I cleaned the house and did the laundry while  trying to keep London entertained, which wasn't as easy as it sounded.  On Tuesday afternoon, while Vivian interviewed, I brought London to a  late lunch at Chuck E. Cheese, a place Vivian would never set foot in.  After eating, she played some of the games in the arcade, hoping to win  enough tickets to trade them for a pink teddy bear. We didn't come  close, and by my calculations, I could have simply purchased three of  them for what I'd spent in game tokens.