Now, Bobby regrets not having put his foot down when his father suggested creating the CDO position. Maybe his brother would feel less entitled if he were only a manager. And then maybe they wouldn’t be having this conversation—again.
“Stifling his creativity isn’t going to kill it, it’s just going to make him rebel even more,” Nick adds.
“My son isn’t rebelling,” Bobby says.
Bobby can’t wait for Allegra to grow up so Nick can see what it’s like, dealing with a teenager. It’s all fun and games when they are small and basically worship you, but let’s see how he’ll handle himself once she is old enough to think for herself and becomes a gold medalist in passive rebellion.
“But what’s the harm in asking?” Nick continues. “I think he’d love collaborating on new designs. He might even come up with a superhero line. Alice suggested we explore endorsement deals with Marvel—”
“Not a chance,” Bobby says. “He already thinks of his doodles as actual books. You’re not encouraging him to chase delusions.”
“Why do you have to call them that? And then you wonder why Calan doesn’t open up to you.”
“I don’t wonder that, actually.”
It’s true: he doesn’t. And that’s because the reason is obvious enough. Nick is the cooler twin and Calan has picked up on that. He wants to be like Uncle Nick, a world traveler who plays the guitar and loves to surf. Bobby has to admit that Nick isn’t completely useless—he has come up with a few interesting ideas to market new models, not to mention the brilliant stunt he pulled last year with Angie Aguilar, but he doesn’t know the first thing about how to run a business. A clever idea is just the beginning. There are also the minor matters of business plans, projections, calculations, profit margins, supply chain logistics, suppliers, and retailers—to name only a few of the things Bobby oversees. Bobby has witnessed Nick calling Alice to ask her to help him understand a report (usually something financial, Nick is a complete moron when it comes to math), or to get her take on a presentation he’s putting together. What does it say about Nick that his stay-at-home wife is better at his job than he is?
“Fine. Have him intern in accounting or some other comatose department.” Nick lifts his hands in a mock surrender.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Bobby looks up and sees his dad standing by his door. He still hasn’t gotten used to his dad’s new look. Charles had spent years donned in traditional attire: pressed suits, proper jackets, vests. But ever since Lawrence Thompson, his childhood best friend, died last year, Charles has taken to wearing dark blue jeans and dress shirts—some in lively colors. Like today’s shirt: bright orange. Bobby doesn’t mind the new look. It’s nice to see his dad making the most of his retirement and he supposes it makes sense that losing a friend his own age would make Charles want to enjoy life a bit more. It’s his mom who has taken to complaining (“For heaven’s sake, Charles! You’re past sixty!”).
“Hey, Dad,” Bobby says.
Nick leans forward in his seat and swivels his torso. “We were just discussing who’s Ringo and who’s John.”
Charles smiles, a gesture that makes him look even younger. It’s hard to believe that he is sixty-four years old. Bobby only hopes that he shares whatever genetic trait makes his dad look so youthful. Given his stress level, he’ll need the boost.
“That’s easy,” Charles says, stepping inside and taking a seat next to Nick.
“I’m John, right?” Nick grins.
“Of course not,” Charles replies. “You’re neither.”
“So Bobby is both Ringo and John?” Nick asks.
“Actually, you’re both like a Beatles cover band.” Charles winks.
“Ouch.” Bobby chuckles.
“What brings you here, Dad?” Nick asks. “It isn’t Bring the Elderly to Work Day, is it?”
“Funny,” Charles says. “You should try standup. No, I actually came to see your brother.” He casts a glance at Bobby.
“Ah, got it.” Nick slaps his knee as he stands up. “CEO talk—former and present. That’s my cue then.” He’s whistling as he ambles out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“How are you feeling, Dad?” Bobby asks.
“Good, good.” Charles scans the room. Bobby notices his gaze lingering on the shelf to his right, the one filled with Plexiglass awards. When they lock eyes, Bobby tries to imagine what must be going on in Charles’s mind as he takes in the image of his son sitting in the CEO seat. The seat that used to belong to Charles—and that will one day belong to Calan. Bobby knows how proud Charles is of Alma Boots—of its history, its enduring power, its presence.
“Are you recovered?” Bobby asks.
Charles frowns, seemingly confused.
“At Nick’s house on Friday, Mom said you were sick…”
“Your mother worries too much. I’m right as rain. I came to talk to you about what’s happening with these allegations—”
“There’s no truth to any of it,” Bobby snaps.
A beat. Charles’s expression is undisguisedly evaluative. “I hear HR is opening up a file on this. Officially, I mean.”
Bobby is surprised: as General Counsel for Alma Boots, Doug is notoriously discreet. It wasn’t until yesterday that he and Goddard relayed to Bobby that HR would have to treat Eva’s allegations as a formal complaint. “We can’t ignore this, not after she put it in writing,” Goddard had told Bobby, referring to the damn text message sent to his company phone. His tone had been apologetic, but Bobby had still wanted to punch him in the face. Alma Boots should not be giving into threats. Goddard had suggested issuing a press release. “We can
