Big Time

Eleven

John waited three days before calling Barbara. He was torn with indecision: he didn’t want Ray to get in first; but he didn’t want to appear too eager either. The three-day rule was a rule for a reason. And they’d kissed. Surely that guarantees me a date? Besides, he needed some clear headspace after that night with Rasha and his disaster of a job interview. After he’d called, they endured four frustrating iterations of phone tag before they finally got hold of each other. Tonight, Thursday, was Barbara’s only free night until next week. 

“You shouldn’t have waited three days to call,” she chastised, playfully.

John tried to think of something witty to say. He didn’t usually have any trouble. His eyes darted around the room, looking for inspiration. Penny was typing up a letter, Richard was working on a spreadsheet, and Frank had his head down over a legal document. The clocks ticked off the times in New York, London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Sydney. The office buzzed as deal-makers and wannabes worked spreadsheets, term sheets, sale agreements, valuations, and the phones. Faxes arrived, assistants scurried about, and people left for meetings. John focused his attention on the window on the far side of the room to try and cancel out the noise. 

“I’m just teasing,” said Barbara.

“Well it’s the rules; and I play by the rules,” said John, belatedly.

"I bet you always colored within the lines as a kid.”

They chuckled.

“Do you like Mexican?” John asked.

“From time to time,” she said non-committedly.

“How about we meet at El Parador in Midtown? It’s not your average taco joint. Say, nine?”

“Okay.”

“Great. See you then.”

At midday, Rob walked over to John’s desk, winked at him, and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure,” John said, clueless about what Rob was referring. There were no appointments in his day planner. He picked up his notebook and pen, put on his suit jacket and followed Rob out the door. 

They took a cab to the Les Halles off Broadway, a block over from the World Trade Center. They sat at the back, per Rob’s request, with their menus before them.

“So you’re really had enough of banking?” John asked.

“Yep,” said Rob jovially and started studying the list of meat on offer. Whereas John usually felt completely comfortable with silence in Rob’s presence, he didn’t today. It felt like an auspicious occasion. A last supper, maybe. There was an uncomfortable weight on his chest. He was only just realizing how much he was going to miss him.

“What do you feel like?” Rob asked a few minutes later.

“I’ll probably get the steak.”

“How about we get the côte de boeuf?” It was aged Black Angus prime rib for two.

“Sounds great.”

“Good. Medium rare,” Rob told the waiter, handing over the menus. He hadn’t asked John how he liked his steak. He didn’t need to. 

Turning his attention back to John, Rob said, “So have you thought about what you’ll do if you don’t get the job?”

John had expected this to come up; in fact, he wanted to raise the subject himself. “Have you heard something?”

“No. I just know it’s gotta be on your mind.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, it has. It won’t be the same without you around. I don’t think it would feel right anymore.”