Chrysalis, p.7
Chrysalis, page 7
“Isn’t he married?” I ask, knowing that, to some men, this isn’t a deterrent, but having to point it out.
“Not anymore. The divorce was final a few months ago. I thought he was dating, but he said he’d been nursing a crush on me for years. Said he never considered acting on it until he was sure about the divorce. He said he couldn’t hide it anymore.”
I feel better now that I know that Rich barely touched her, that he took ‘no’ for an answer even when he was drunk, and later apologized. I almost feel sorry for the guy, and kind of admire him for putting it all out on the line, which is more than I’ve ever done. I still don’t like that he showed up at Darby’s house at three in the morning, though.
“So, what did you tell him?”
“That I think of him as a friend, and that even if I didn’t, I couldn’t start a new relationship with somebody who is so intertwined with my career. That I was flattered—”
“Ouch,” I interrupt. Now it’s my turn to wince.
“I know…it’s so bad,” she moans, letting her head fall into her hands. “But I didn’t want to lead him on, you know? Male egos are tricky things. Some of them can get over rejection, no problem. Other ones can’t handle it.
“And you think he’s the latter.”
“I don’t know. But if he is, I don’t want the drama to play out on my research stage. I feel like a jerk even considering finding a different neurologist. But if I’m going to fire him, I should do it now. Since we’re in a new phase, nobody would ask questions.”
I nod, but she still looks agonized.
“What should I do?”
“I’m extremely biased.”
“I still want your opinion.”
“I’m not kidding, Darby. Maybe you don’t. I don’t like thinking about other men touching you, and I don’t care how this turns out for him or anyone else.”
“You don’t like thinking about other men touching me?”
When she smiles coquettishly, I mumble, “He’s lucky I wasn’t there.”
“Michael,” she starts over, “You may be biased but you’re also the savviest person I have ever met when it comes to work bullshit. Remember how you handled Huck? You get the politics, the optics, the human element. I know you’ll have the right perspective.”
She knows that I know she’s right.
“There’s a woman at work who’s interested in me,” I begin. I’ve never told Darby a story like this. “She’s never fallen out of line, but she’s been after me for months. I’ve politely declined at least a dozen overtures, but she won’t let it go. She’s pretty frigid with everyone else—it’s obvious that whatever this is, is about me.”
“You’ve never told me about this before,” Darby says, her voice tinged with the slightest drop of jealousy.
“I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about her,” I say, wanting to make it clear that I’m not interested in Alicia. “Anyway…I realized it wasn’t about me—it was about her—and that I had to decide how much I trusted her judgment. I’m never going to do anything wrong. Even if I were interested in her, which I’m not, I can’t be involved with anybody that I manage. So I had to make the same decision you did. I had to decide whether I thought she would drop it and move on, or whether it would get in the way.”
Darby seems to accept this comparison. “So what did you decide?”
“That I had worked too hard to let anyone put my job and my reputation on the line. I didn’t have to be a dick about anything, but I didn’t have to give her more chances to back off than she deserved, and I definitely didn’t want to wait for something to happen.”
“Did you fire her?”
“I’m transferring her to the London office. She won’t lose her job or have an HR claim filed against her. I’m taking her out of a situation in which she’s showing judgment that could have bad consequences for both of us.”
“So you think I should find a new neurologist?”
“I think that, if you were completely surprised by his confession, you don’t know him as well as you think. And if you’re not sure what his boundaries are, he’s a liability.”
She smiles and shakes her head at me and for a second the screen resolution is so good that I forget she’s not right here. My body reacts to this look I’ve seen from her before—the one that is a cross between flirtation and admiration.
“Maybe you should’ve been the shrink,” she says.
“You asked for my opinion,” I point out.
“No, you’re right. And I knew you would be. I knew that whatever you said would make sense. Thank you.”
“Turns out I’m beautiful and wise,” I quip.
“I just feel so stupid. You and Anne both called it on how he felt. She’s been telling me that for years. I’m clinically trained at reading people. I can’t believe I’m so bad at figuring out when a man is in love with me.”
I can, I think but don’t say.
Dale picks me up in a pretty sweet Jag—a sport coupe I don’t recognize. One cool thing about living in another country is that all the carmakers manufacture region-specific models. Whatever he’s driving, I’ve never seen it in the States. I know that by the end of the weekend, I, too, will drive it.
Dale has been in Sydney since Wednesday and he’ll stay the weekend for the leadership retreat. He’s flown in all of the managing partners from every office all over the world. It’s an annual gathering—last year at this time, I was in Buenos Aires—Australia was chosen this year because it’s our newest and fastest-growing market.
The other partners have been rolling in for the past two days and it’s been my job to show them around. I’m losing my voice from how many gatherings I’ve hosted—I’ve given speeches at site tours and all-hands meetings during the day, and shouted over the music in loud bars at night. I’ve barely spoken to Darby and I get the sense that she feels a bit blown off. Last night, I stayed up sketching her some drawings that had been in my head. I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten her. I’ll send them one by one each day I’m on the retreat.
Most of the other partners have grouped up to drive to Crescent Head in carloads of four, but I recognize Dale’s insistence that I ride with him for the invitation that it is. I’m the youngest managing partner in the history of the firm. He’s placed incredible confidence in me. I know he wants to check in.
“I ran into Trina yesterday,” he says casually as he speeds down mostly empty streets. It’s too early for rush hour traffic—Crescent Head is a five-hour drive an we’re due there before lunch. “She sang your praises up and down the hall. You’re a big change from Ross. Seems like things with him were worse than I thought.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I reply candidly, referring to my predecessor. “But you know how it is. Everyone wants the boss to fix what’s wrong, but no one wants to rat out their friends.”
“Welcome to leadership,” he replies drily. “It’s lonely in the ivory tower.”
I smile.
He pulls his eyes off the road long enough to study me for a second. “But you seem to be handling it well. You’ve unloaded the dead weight, hired some great new talent, and made the HR complaints dry up. All on top of closing a major deal within your first two weeks. You know you’re making everyone else look bad, right?”
“All in a day’s work,” I say, with the lightness that is always present between us
“They like you, Michael,” he says then, turning more serious than I expect. “That’s no small feat. Partners who clean house as soon as they arrive don’t usually have this many friends. But they’re rallying behind you. You were more than ready for this.”
I’ve spent more than a year trying to achieve exactly this—making partner, being sent to an important office, and exceeding everyone else’s expectations. For all that I’ve given up to be here, some part of me takes pride in knowing that my bittersweet victory wasn’t for nothing.
“From what I hear, there’s one employee in particular who really likes you.” His suggestive expression makes me cringe. “And she doesn’t like anyone.”
“Her attentions are unwanted,” I say in no uncertain terms. “Besides, you know me better than that. Subordinates are off limits.”
“Somebody should’ve told that to Grasso.” He gives me a look and makes a slicing motion near his throat.
“You canned him?” Grasso is, or should I say was, the partner in the Los Angeles office. Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing him this week.
“Three weeks ago,” Dale confirms. “So what are you gonna do about Alicia?”
“Her transfer will be complete next week,” I answer smoothly. “I’ve found her a position in London. She’s talented and we should keep her. We just can’t keep her here.”
“You should’ve just told her you have a girlfriend.”
I don’t mention that saying that would have been equally inappropriate. Alicia has never directly propositioned me. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” It’s accurate, but saying it feels wrong.
“Darby Christensen?”
“It’s complicated.”
I’ve been making an effort to open up, and have held to my promise to Bex to relieve myself of one small burden each day. I told Dale several months ago about my friendship with Darby, and how it could complicate what we’re doing on the South Side, but, at the time, I hadn’t admitted to more.
“Chicago is 10,000 miles away,” I point out.
“I know how far away Chicago is,” he says. “Before we officially opened Sydney, I did all the Australia business by commute. It was the nail in the coffin of my marriage.”
I look out the window. “That’s why I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say. Eager to change the subject, I ask a question that’s been on my mind. “What’s happening on the South Side?”
Since I resigned as chair of the Corporate Responsibility Committee, I have no idea what we’re seeing from inside the company, though Avi’s intel is showing that Frank is as determined as ever.
“You were right. Christensen’s doubling down. I got a visit from his Chief of Staff.”
“Charlie Sweeney?”
“That guy’s a real piece of shit.”
“I’ve met him.” The mere mention of his name makes me want to punch something.
“He wants us to shift our focus to the West Side instead. Said he’d hand us a set of builders who could beat the prices of the ones we use. They’d run a press campaign to make sure we got big coverage and give Dewey and Rowe the key to the city.”
Unbelievable. Not only does Frank want us to leave the South Side alone—he wants us to give business to his cronies. I stretch my fingers when I noticed my fists are clenched. “What’d you tell him?”
“I thanked him for letting us know about the needs on the West Side and assured him we would expand our efforts there.” Dale gives me a sidelong glance. “Then I told him the last time I let a bully push me around was in the third grade. I said I’d see him on the South Side and showed him the door.”
I swing my angry gaze back to Dale. He had my back. I figured he would, but didn’t expect him to give Sweeney the finger. My voice is gruff when I speak. “Thanks.”
Dale’s attention, which really should be on the road right now, is focused on me. “You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing. You and I know what this work means.”
I don’t know Dale’s whole story, but I’ve gleaned that he also comes from modest beginnings. I was initially surprised by how well he took to my ideas around building out our community practice. Over time, I’ve discovered that he shares my sense of purpose. He seems ready for a fight that’s already getting ugly. I’m more worried about this than I’ve let on to Darby and I’m glad that Dale is in my corner.
We spend the rest of the drive catching up on other stuff. He tells me all the Chicago office gossip and gives me the dirt on what’s really going on in the other markets. He tells me who’s sleeping with whom and who’s fucking up which accounts. He tells me things are getting serious between Andrew and his boyfriend, which I already knew. I tell him that, for all the time he spends at the water cooler, it’s a miracle he gets any work done at all.
Crescent Head turns out to be a gorgeous little gem of a place. The town is pristine, with small but well-kept houses near the center and a well-planned downtown that is full of cute little restaurants and shops. We’re headed to some sort of retreat center, but already I know that when she comes to Australia, I will bring Darby here.
Winter is ending here so we’re off-season for beach activities, but this coast is off the Great Barrier Reef. When Darby comes, the weather will be perfect. It’s been years since I’ve had a beach vacation. I’ve never looked forward to time off like I’m looking forward to my time with Darby.
As we pull onto the property, I start to put all my stuff in my bag—my empty travel mug, the chewing gum I’ve taken out, and my bottle of water. But when Dale parks and turns off the ignition, he doesn’t move to do the same.
“You know you’ve proven yourself, Michael, don’t you?” he asks.
I’m not sure whether it’s a rhetorical question.
“I never have to hound you for deliverables or get on your case. I know you know the work and that you’ll get it done.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re not. Epstein…Rodriguez…DiAngelo…they’re just doing their jobs.”
I frown a little, unsure of where this conversation is going.
“Talent is only half of it.” He says it meaningfully. “You have that in spades, and the three of them have that too. But they don’t come close to getting the results that you do, because they don’t put in the time.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask. Because it sounds like he’s calling me to the carpet for having a strong work ethic.
“None of them steps foot in the office, or answers a single e-mail, over the weekend. But, along with you, they’re still my top guys. I’m not running a sweat shop, Michael. I want you to work hard, but not at the expense of the important things in your life. Slowing down a little will do nothing to jeopardize your standing at this firm.”
I don’t mention that my life is in Chicago, that if I didn’t work on weekends, I’d go insane in addition to falling behind. Instead, I say the only thing that should ever be said in response to feedback like this. “Okay.”
“The corner office at headquarters still has your name on it. I’ll leave it to you to decide when you need to manage Sydney from Chicago vs. when you need to be here. I trust your judgment. So, do what you need to do.”
How’s your day going?
I held off on texting her for as long as I could. It’s been three and a half hours since Andrew confirmed that the flowers had been stealthily delivered. This is the riskiest one I’ve pulled yet.
It started out kind of shitty, then I found a surprise on my desk..
Oh, really? What was it?
You tell me.
New stapler?
Better than that.
A jasmine bouquet from a not-so-secret admirer?
Good guess.
My phone rings then.
“I can’t stop smelling them,” she says.
I chuckle. “That’s exactly the point.”
Darby is obsessed with the smell of things. And I know she likes jasmine. A lot of her bath salts and other girly things in her house carry this scent. Red roses seemed too obvious, but if she knows about the deeper symbolism, she’ll have picked up on the traditional use of jasmine. For centuries, it’s been given as a token of romantic love.
“These are so rare, Michael.”
“In the U.S. they are, but they’re more common here. When you come, you’ll smell them everywhere.”
“No one’s ever done anything remotely like this for me.”
“What kind of two-bit suitor do you think I am?”
Yeah, I slipped that in there. She quiets at my use of the word.
“It’s just…I don’t know what all of this means.”
“You’re a smart woman…” I return softly, “I think you’ve probably figured it out.”
When she remains quiet, my confidence starts to wane. Me doing this from 10,000 miles away is ass-backwards. By shying away from asking her for anything official, I’ve confused the hell out of her. When she doesn’t speak for a minute, I can tell she’s having trouble with all of this.
“I know it’s all fucked up—me here, and you there. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m just a guy doing everything I can to impress the girl I like.”
But she’s still not talking, and I consider that I’m missing the mark, that my attempts to woo her are failing. If she doesn’t want this, I have to give her an out.
“You can tell me to back off, you know…” I say quietly. “It’s only fun if you like the attention.”
Heavy heartbeats punctuate my breath. She’s taking even longer to respond this time. When the wayward thought occurs to me, it hits me like a ton of bricks.
“If you met someone…you would tell me, right? I mean, you wouldn’t feel like it was weird to tell me…” I blurt. “My fragile ego can take it.”
I would pay money to see the look on her face. Her expression alone would tell me the truth. But I’m glad she can’t see mine, because she’d know, too. I’m lying through my teeth.
“It would be totally weird to tell you.” She says it like I’m crazy. “And if you were seeing someone, I wouldn’t want to know. I couldn’t handle it if she had a better body or if she sucked dick better than me.”
“Not even the gay boys suck dick better than you,” I deadpan.
I’m hoping that made her smile.
“I’m not seeing anyone, cupcake.”
“Me neither.”
“I haven’t wanted to.”
“Me neither.”
I decide to drop it. I think enough’s been said for today. A second after I’ve made this decision, an alarm on my desktop sounds, telling me I have a call with a client.
