Big Time

Fifteen

John and the team closed the healthcare deal two weeks after Rob left. The next day, Thurston sent an email to senior management lauding its success: 

"Yesterday, the Principle Finance Team within Mergers and Acquisitions closed its first transaction under my leadership, acquiring Wellco Ltd, the owner of 12 hospitals and three medical centers in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa. The relationship of the bank proved to be instrumental in this friendly takeover of the target, who went briefly into Chapter 11. Special recognition should therefore go to Geoffrey Black, Wellco’s relationship manager, based in our Chicago office. The financing of the transaction was run out of New York by John Smith and Frank Reubens."

John couldn’t believe the relationship manager was mentioned. He’d done nothing!

He tried not to let King Howell’s proclamation get to him; but suppressed anger is still anger.

Having just made the firm in the vicinity of $20 million, John took the team out for champagne at four p.m. By six, with barely any sleep all week, his eyelids threatened to close and he sent himself home, promising the team they would do it properly next week.

Opening the apartment door, John found boxes everywhere.They were piled up to three high. He knew it was happening and probably should have taken the day off to help, but he needed to be at work. 

He found Barbara in his walk-in closet moving things around.

“How’s the unpacking going?”

“Oh, fine,” she said and gave him a half smile. They kissed and John took off his tie

“You want a drink?” he said with a yawn, wanting bed more than additional alcohol.

“I’d kill for one.”

“Let me get out of these clothes, grab a quick shower, and I’ll open a bottle of something.”

John stripped off, hung his suit up, threw his shirt a yard short of the hamper and walked into the bathroom. Female crap was everywhere. Perfumes, exfoliators, soaps, shampoos, oils, candles, Tampax, pads, cotton tips, makeup remover, an industrial-sized hairdryer, and two hair straighteners. Raising the toilet seat, he also discovered another toilet brush and pint sized bathroom trash can.

Where is all this shit going to go?

John got into the shower and let the water stream over him, waking him up.

The last thing he felt like doing was helping unpack. He’d silently wished they deferred moving until things had settled down at work, but it felt like they’d be sucked through a jet stream as soon as they’d decided to move in together.

John got out, dried himself, and went to the closet for jeans and a T-shirt. Where his jeans hung this morning, he found dresses. Rather than T-shirts in the third drawer, he found bras and underwear.

“Hey Babe, what have you done with my things?”

“What things?”

“What do you mean, ‘What things?’ My clothes.”

“There all in there somewhere. We’re just a bit short on closet space.”

John searched. His jeans were crammed in next to his suits. His T-shirts had disappeared altogether. He grabbed a polo shirt off a hanger, which was sandwiched in between his business shirts.

“We already need a bigger place,” he yelled out to her.

“What?”

Frustration shot through him and while he was tempted to respond, he bit his tongue.