He’d actually read this off the man’s bio that was posted on the firm’s website.
“That’s right, Tom. Transferred over in ’99 and never looked back.”
“So you’re clearly happy with your career here. How would you describe the corporate culture?”
“I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions.”
A well-timed self-conscious laugh. “Right. Sorry.”
Morris grinned. “Don’t be. Determining whether this job is the right fit for you goes both ways. Let’s see… corporate culture…” A rambling five-minute explanation followed, then, “Now, let me tell you more about the job.”
For the next twenty minutes, Ethan sat politely while Morris droned on about the responsibilities of being a junior account manager, interjecting with questions when appropriate. If he’d really been Tom Young, the job might have sounded okay. Morris was probably a decent boss. Ethan kept his face composed, nodding in the right places and forcing himself to take in as many details as he could-one never knew what might be useful later.
It was clear Morris was a smart man. This didn’t surprise Ethan. Sheila wouldn’t waste her time on someone who didn’t match her own intelligence. But everything about her fiance was large. Big body, big voice, big hands, big feet. He made Ethan feel… small.
Ethan hated him.
“Based on your qualifications, Tom, I think you’d be a great fit for this division.”
“I’m glad you think so, Morris.”
The big man cleared his throat. “Now, I gotta confess that we’ve done things a bit backwards here. Obviously I wanted to meet you since my-Randall-spoke so highly of you, but you’ll need to submit a resume with Human Resources and be interviewed by our hiring committee before an official offer can be made. Though with your background, I don’t foresee any problems.”
“I understand. I’ll send them the information today.”
Morris stood up. Ethan followed suit.
“Great meeting you, Tom. I’ll be putting in a strong recommendation.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that, Morris.”
The older man hesitated. “Listen, any chance you’ll be talking to Randall over the next day or two?”
“Probably. He’ll be curious to know how our meeting went.”
“Uh…” Morris’s face flushed. A bead of sweat appeared at his graying hairline. “Maybe you could tell him to give his old man a call. I’m getting married in a few weeks and he, uh… never officially confirmed whether he’s bringing his girlfriend… uh…”
“Donna.”
“Right, Donna.” Morris paused, then threw a hand up in the air. “Ah hell. You’ve been friends with Randy for what, eight, ten years? You must know we’ve hardly spoken. Not since his mother and I divorced. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Wasn’t exactly the best husband and father back then.”
Ethan gave a sympathetic nod. “He told me. We’ve talked about it quite a bit, actually. But I think-” He stopped. “You know what? It’s not my place to say.”
“Please, speak freely.”
Ethan counted to five, hoping for just the right amount of hesitation to seem uncomfortable but also concerned. “Well, he’s been doing some thinking. He and Donna have been going through some difficulties of their own, and I think it’s given him some perspective on you and his mom divorcing.”
“Really?” Morris’s round face was so filled with hope that Ethan almost felt a pang of pity. Almost. “He told you that?”
“Pretty much. And he also said that you and he-”
A loud beep shrilled from the phone. Pained, Morris held up a chunky finger and pressed the speaker button.
“Yes, Darcy,” he barked.
Her crisp, no-nonsense voice chirped, “Mr. Evers and Mr. Chan are here. Waiting for you in the boardroom.”
“Be right there.” Morris pressed the button again. “I’m sorry, Tom, what were you saying?”
The timing was perfect. “You know, Morris, it would be better if you talked to Randy directly. I’ll let him know our meeting went well and pass along the message that you’d like him to get in touch. I really appreciate your time.”
Ethan shook Morris’s hand firmly and headed toward the doorway. He was just outside the glass door when Morris stopped him. A few employees were milling around in the hallway, chatting, and they looked over curiously.
“Hey, Tom, wait a minute there.” Morris leaned in close, well beyond the boundaries of personal space. Immediately Ethan felt trapped. The big man’s voice was low, out of earshot of the other employees. “I know you’re a good friend of Randall’s. I’m ashamed to say I think I need some help here. I understand if you’re not comfortable, but he’s my son…”
“What can I do?”
“If you’re free for dinner tonight, maybe you’d let me buy you a steak and pick your brain about the best way to approach him. The last few times I’ve tried, he’s shot me down.”
It wasn’t hard for Ethan to feign discomfort with Morris standing so close to him. “I don’t know, sir. I’m not sure how Randy would feel about that.”
“No, no.” Morris looked around and moved in even closer. Ethan fought the urge to step away. “I’m not asking you to give away any of his confidences. You’re his buddy, that wouldn’t be right. But I could use some help figuring out what to say. And how to say it. I need to find common ground. He’s my son. He’s never even met Sheila, my fiancee.”
Ethan pretended to think it over. “Sure. Okay. I’d be glad to help.”
Morris rewarded him with a huge grin and clapped him on the shoulder. He finally took a step back and Ethan stifled a sigh of relief.
“Wonderful. That’s wonderful. There’s a great steakhouse on Olive Way, just two blocks from here. Why don’t we meet there at six? And we can also talk strategy about how to get you into this place. You would love working here, Tom, you really would.”
Tom might, but Ethan definitely wouldn’t.
Pleasantly stuffed after an expensive dinner of porterhouse and sourdough bread (no wine for the recovering alcoholic Morris), Ethan sat alone in front of the TV at home, mindlessly watching a rerun of Friends. Abby was at work, the midnight shift at Safeway. It was a crummy job, but it paid more than being a teaching assistant.
He rolled the platinum cuff link between his fingers, looking at it in the soft glow of the TV light. The initials MG were engraved into the square face in italics. Had this been a present from Sheila? Ethan had pretended to stumble on the sidewalk after dinner, and he’d slipped it off Morris after reflexively grabbing the man’s arm. No special reason for taking it, other than the pleasing thought of Morris looking for it later and realizing he’d lost it.
The dinner with Sheila’s fiance had been enlightening, though Ethan’s blond wig had itched the entire time. He’d had to excuse himself several times to go to the restroom to scratch his head. Damn cheap wig.
It was clear Morris had liked “Tom.” They’d spent the first half of dinner discussing the elusive Randall, and Ethan had pretended to know exactly why the younger Gardener still held a grudge against his old man after all this time. As a psych major, it wasn’t rocket science to guess what most of Randall’s issues might be. Neglect, guilt, blame, feelings of helplessness watching his father on a downward spiral, anger at the family being torn apart. Blah blah blah, all very textbook and mundane. No doubt Morris had discussed it all with Sheila already.
As the evening progressed, Ethan had been able to steer the conversation toward Morris’s impending marriage, and therein lay the real reason Ethan had agreed to dinner. He wanted to know who Sheila was through Morris’s eyes. Thanks to the camaraderie that the charming and sensitive Tom had been able to build with Sheila’s fiance, the older man hadn’t hesitated to drop a bomb.
Morris had been dating Sheila for an entire year and they had never once had sex.
It had taken all of Ethan’s willpower to contain himself, though he continued to listen with polite interest. Sheila had never slept with the man she was engaged to marry, but she’d been fucking Ethan regularly for the past three months. That meant something, right? It made him superior somehow, right?
