John and his team were nearing completion of their quest to buy Wellco. Sometimes buying a company only took a few months; other times, up to a year. Their bid to buy the network of 12 hospitals and 3 medical centers in the Great Lakes region was now in its sixth month and the midnight oil was being burnt.
When an email came in from Thurston Howell the Third, sticking his nose into their affairs, it got John’s goat.
"John, I would like to see the valuation and discuss it with you before we lodge a formal binding offer for Wellco. I need to be comfortable with it. I am available Friday at 9 a.m. for you to present the numbers to me."
John was infuriated. Thurston seemed to be there at every turn. He’d never reported to anyone before except Rob and was really resenting the intrusion. This was John’s deal and this guy was blatantly stepping on his toes. He banged out a terse response.
As a matter of policy, I report to Rob Thomas and any request for sensitive information should come through him.Uncharacteristically, John hit “send” without taking the time to proofread it. Fear ripped through him and he hurriedly opened his sent items and re-read it. He found a typo and cringed.
Around midday, Rasha finally called him back.
“Hey, how are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Fine.” She didn’t sound it.
“So when are you free for dinner?”
There was a pause. “This is not just about sex, is it?”
“What are you talking about? I want to see you.”
She didn’t respond.
“Don’t you want to see me?” he connived.
She paused. “I don’t want you to play games with me.”
John exhaled. This was too much.
“Would you like to go out for dinner?” he asked.
“Can you stay awake?” she said matter of factly.
“I can for you.”
“Last time you could not.”
“When are you free?” he asked.
“I have the next two nights off.”
John really wanted to see her tonight but he had agreed to go to a charity event with friends. He pondered what to do.“Let’s go out tomorrow night after I’ve caught up on some sleep,” he said.
That afternoon, Rob called John into his office and relayed a conversation he’d just had with Thurston. The annoying Brit was unhappy with the way John was treating him, which was, apparently, with contempt. He’d demanded from Rob that John start showing him some respect.
John felt ready to explode. “You don’t ring up and demand respect. You earn it. That’s what he doesn’t understand.”
Rob smiled, sympathetically. “Sure. But there’s no point in making an enemy out of him. Go easy. There’s no upside to pissing off a partner.”
John finished work at seven p.m. to attend a fundraiser for Africa’s largest orphanage. Michael and his wife Sarah had invited him along, two old friends from Cornell. He’d tentatively accepted a fortnight before, subject to his workload, but decided he needed a night away from the office. Despite it being Wednesday, attending the event was an easy way for him to catch up with them for an hour or so and then run home and still get a good night’s sleep.
“Hey, John,” Michael said waving him over amongst a crowd of around 75 people in the restaurant’s function room. As they shook hands, John noticed a striking brunette next to Sarah. John greeted Sarah with a kiss.
“This is a friend of mine, Barbara,” said Sarah, introducing her friend.
John took the outstretched hand with Chanel red nails, said hello and evaluated her. She had chestnut brown hair, cut short so that it left the nape of her neck exposed. Delicate, manicured eyebrows sat on an intelligent, serious face. Her figure was lean, yet inviting. His curiosity was aroused. John only glimpsed her long legs, which were accentuated by black stilettos before looking away, lest she think he was ogling her. She wore a dark-blue pinstriped suit with a hot-pink shirt underneath. Strong, bold, and business-like, yet still feminine. She looked younger, probably by a few years, John guessed. Not wanting to stare, he knew he should look away. Instead, he looked into her big green eyes. They were breathtaking.
John became aware that Sarah was observing them, beaming.
Without missing a beat, he said, “So what do you do Barbara?”
“I’m a publisher with Time,” she said, flashing a warm smile and looking into his with her enchanting eyes.
The butterflies started to flutter in his stomach.
“Yeah? What type of books?”
“Children’s, mainly.”
“Sounds fascinating,” John said, trying to sound sincere.
A momentary pause ensued while John tried to think of something witty or even relevant to say.
“I also do some work on educational books too,” Barbara continued.
“Which do you prefer?” John asked, holding back his smirk. He assumed he knew the answer.
“Children’s,” Barbara said, stoned-faced.
John tried to hold her gaze and his smile.
Sensing he was unimpressed, Barbara shrugged. “Children’s books may sound simple, but there’s a lot that goes into publishing them. I do everything from picture books for toddlers to romance and adventure for teens.”
John feigned harder. “Yeah. I imagine that would be more fun than a 10th–grade science book.”
“And what about you?” Barbara asked, changing the subject.
“I’m a banker.” He said it in an understated way, rehearsed hundreds of times.
“An investment banker?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve always wanted to know what an investment banker actually does.” Barbara held his eye contact as she spoke.
John took stock as they talked. She was confident, articulate, and asked smart questions. She was working her way up in publishing, apparently happy with her career. She ran, did yoga, and wrote in her spare time. New York was treating her well, although she was vulnerable enough to say she got lonely from time to time and missed Boston, her hometown. That was something you rarely heard in Manhattan. People were always making out how amazing and exciting their lives were.
John realized how out-of-place it was to be at a social engagement without a drink in his hand. He suddenly felt naked and awkward. “How about a cocktail?”
“What do you recommend?” asked Barbara.
“I’m not a cocktail drinker myself. I’m having a scotch and Coke. But if you’re going to become a true New York gal, you have to drink overpriced sugary alcohol with a twist.”
“Maybe on a Friday night out with the girls.”
“So what’s your poison then?” John asked.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, thanks.”
They went to the open bar, where clusters of people were trying to push through to the front of the line and order from the understaffed barmen. Sandwiched together, John could faintly smell Barbara’s alluring perfume.
When the person ahead of him turned, drinks in hand, to make his exit, John pushed forward, intent on securing his spot at the bar. It stopped the guy to his left, who had shoulders wide enough to block as a defensive guard. Once positioned, John turned on an angle to try and open himself back up to Barbara, who was now behind him.
“Open bars are always like this in New York,” he said apologetically.
“It’s the same in Boston,” Barbara said, shrugging.
“It’s the same the world over,” said the Defensive Guard, who was now standing next to Barbara.
John caught the bartender’s eye and placed his order.
“So you must be a Red Socks fan,” the Defensive Guard said casually.
“Of course.” Barbara laughed, pretending to look scandalized that he’d think she didn’t root for her home team.
John, who had thought of asking that himself, kicked himself for not having done so earlier.
“They’ve been having a great year,” commented the Defensive Guard.
“Where are you from?” Barbara asked. “You’re not from Boston or New York.”
“The Bay Area, originally, but the bank shipped me here a few years ago after a two-year stint in Tokyo. I’m a foreign exchange trader.”
Barbara smiled. His job was as foreign to her as the currencies he traded. She had no interest in such things unless she was travelling overseas. “I love the Bay Area. I studied at Berkeley.”
“Small world! So did I.”
“Different departments, I imagine.”
“Yeah?”
“I was an English Lit major.”
The Defensive Guard nodded. “I went to business school.”
The drinks arrived as John’s ears burned.
“Would you like ice in those?” asked the bartender.
John did, but he was bustling to get Barbara out of there.
“Would you like ice?” John asked Barbara, cutting into their conversation mid-sentence.
“Sure,” she said, smiling and enjoying the attention.
“Yeah, thanks,” said John to the barman.
Another precious minute went by while Barbara and the Defensive Guard talked and John fumed in frustration. The bartender finally placed their drinks on the stainless-steel counter, ice included. John picked them up and turned to Barbara, who took her gin and tonic from him.
“Thanks.”
John jerked his chin up at the Defensive Guard—a male universal hello of sorts. He went to walk off, with Barbara in tow, he hoped.
But the Defensive Guard wasn’t done. “I’m Ray by the way.” He held out his hand.
A sour feeling entered the pit of John’s stomach. I’m going to lose her.
She shook it and blushed. “Barbara.”
“If you like, I’ll find you after I’ve gotten a drink.”
“Okay,” she said and smiled awkwardly.
“So you’re a Red Socks fan?” asked John as they walked away.
“What other choice is there for a self-respecting Boston girl?”
“None.” John felt stupid for having asked such a redundant question, but he was keen to get chatting again.
“I assume you’re a Yankees or …?”
“Yankees,” he said firmly.
The conversation stalled. Again, John found himself searching for something sharp or witty to say, but nothing came.
“So were you born here?” Barbara asked after a minute’s silence spent people watching.
“Yeah. I’m a native New Yorker.” John wanted to cringe as he heard his own voice in his head. He might have a drink in hand, but he still felt utterly out of his comfort zone. “Born and bred.”
Ray joined them, grinning broadly, with his own drink. “So how do you guys know each other?” John only heard arrogance in his voice.
Ray looked back and forth between John and Barbara, waiting for either one to answer. Barbara looked at John, assuming he would go first.
“Mutual friends,” John said reluctantly.
“We met tonight,” Barbara added.
John winced on the inside.
“So who else do you know here then?” Ray asked, directing the question to Barbara.
“Our friends, Michael and Sarah, are around here somewhere.”
John flashed Ray a fake smile.
“John’s a banker, too,” Barbara said, trying to keep the fledgling three-way conversation going.
John and Ray exchanged work details: job titles, respective departments, and employers. Neither acknowledged the possibility of the other’s success. A pissing contest had begun in earnest.
“I’m just going to go to the Ladies’ room,” Barbara said, excusing herself and putting her drink down.
“She’s a really nice girl. I like her a lot,” John said to Ray, once they were alone.
“Yeah, I can see why,” Ray countered, with not a little defiance.
“There are plenty of other women here.” John squared his chest to the guy, who was bigger than him.
Ray shrugged, unconcerned. “How’s that working out for you?” he smirked.
They stood in silence, both pretending to smile as other patrons mingled around them. Barbara soon returned, as John’s frustration and suppressed anger with his rival continued to grow.
John sipped his scotch and Coke.
“So Barbara, what do you do?” asked Ray, once she’d returned.
Barbara responded and Ray soaked it up. “My niece would love you,” he finally said.
“Cute. How old is she?”
John chided himself for not having said something similar and simultaneously wondered what was cute about Ray’s niece, sight unseen. His restrained his impulse to tell her about Joshua and Christina. He’d missed that boat.
“How do you know how many books to print?” asked John, interrupting. His mind, uninterested in Ray’s niece, had wandered off down the path of how a publisher made their money.
“Oh. Well, that’s the business. Will a book sell? We use comparable book sales to determine how many and in which parts of the country.”
“If a children’s book will sell in New York, why wouldn’t it in Miami or L.A.?” asked John.
“There must be differences, like more kids reading in Spanish in certain markets,” said Ray.
“That’s right,” said Barbara. “And there are different tastes in different places.”
John faux smiled and then sipped his drink to help douse his seething anger.
“But it’s more developmental for kids under seven. The real market segmentation comes ages 10 and up.”
John finished his scotch and Coke and felt naked again, hopelessly watching Ray and Barbara with their unfinished drinks. He checked his watch. It was almost 11.
“How about another drink?” John suggested.
“Sure,” said Barbara, enjoying herself.
John flagged down a waitress, hoping he could order a bottle of wine and have it delivered.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to order from the bar,” she said apologetically. John stalked over to place another order. This time it only took a few minutes to get the barman’s attention, a bottle of white wine and three glasses.
When he returned, he saw that Michael and Sarah had joined Ray and Barbara. The girls were talking, as were Michael and Ray. John poured the wine and handed a glass to Barbara and then one to Ray, despite the urge to leave him out. Michael and Sarah were drink-less, so John dragged himself back to the bar to get two more glasses.
Now that everyone was catered for, John set his mind to putting Ray on the outer. John decided that would start with Michael, who Ray was conversing with. “So, Michael, what’s new at work,” asked John. Michael was the financial controller of the New York Post. Right then, he was talking about how the Internet was going to change the newspaper business.
John was mildly interested, his mind turning over constantly, agitated by Ray’s presence, who was listening in. It made it hard for John to focus on the conversation with Michael, as his head swirled with ideas of how to get rid of him. Fortunately, the girls were engrossed in a deep and meaningful banter, which meant Ray couldn’t join in there. Finally Ray interrupted them, which also stopped John and Michael’s conversation.
“Hey, Barbara, I’m going to leave you all to it.” He pulled out his wallet and his business card. “Maybe we could exchange numbers though?”
“Sure,” Barbara said.
A wave of rage swept over John. What is she doing? The guy’s an idiot. He’s a monkey foreign exchange trader for God’s sake.
Everything ground to a halt as they witnessed Barbara give Ray her number.
When he left, Sarah giggled. “Aren’t you popular?” said Sarah, with an undercurrent of judgment.
“Oh, he seemed nice enough.”
John’s ears burned.
Michael turned to John. “So have you been on the Internet yet?”
“Sure. We have email at work.”
“Yeah, but you can also look at pages of text to find out information.”
John wasn’t following, nor did he care. His mind was agitated with anger, his desire for Barbara and a need to assert himself as the silverback over a guy who had now left.
While John’s mind went into overdrive, the girls went back to their private conversation.
“Free newspapers are the future,” Michael repeated from earlier.
This preposterous remark pulled John back from his internal world.
“Didn’t you say a minute ago that the Internet was going to destroy the newspaper business?”
“Yeah, eventually,” Michael said and shrugged. “Free newspapers over the Internet and smaller free physical newspapers, all of which are supported by advertising.”
“What kind of business model is that?”
Michael took it in his stride. “It would be a thin, trashy paper for commuters.” John thought the idea ludicrous: that was what magazines were, after all. He went back to thinking of something witty to say to Barbara when the opportunity arose.
A minute later, Sarah pulled Michael away to talk to some people John didn’t know, leaving John and Barbara alone again. It occurred to him they were being set up.
The first thing that popped into John’s mind was to ask whether she planned to call Ray.
“So what do you have on for the weekend?” she asked.
“Taking my niece and nephew to the park.”
“Oh, how cute,” said Barbara. “How old are they?”
“Three and five.”
“That’s great.”
They segued to a new topic. She told him she did her undergraduate work at Harvard, which allowed her to stay close to her family, and completed a doctorate of English literature at Berkeley. She knew her purpose in life, which was to publish great children’s authors who may otherwise go unfound and unheard.
John listened to the natural, assured, and happy way Barbara spoke and found him wanting her more and more. There were no signs of the neuroticism, so typical of most women he’d met in the city. She seemed headstrong. Someone who wouldn’t suffer fools gladly.
It was almost midnight and after a few drinks and plenty of finger food, John knew he needed to head home for work tomorrow. His first meeting was set for 8:30 and he’d certainly have a grueling day thereafter. Yet, he didn’t want to leave.
After a few more minutes of humming and hawing, he caved. “Hey, I’m going to have to hit the road,” he said. “What are your plans?”
“I have an early morning start, so I’d better go, too.”
“What, 10 a.m.?” John joked.
“No. I normally start at nine, but tomorrow morning I have personal training at seven.”
They said goodbye to Michael and Sarah. Sarah struck John as a little smug in her farewell. John knew Michael would call tomorrow; it didn’t need to be said, there was nothing more certain. It was like a head-hunter calling after an organized job interview.
They jumped into a cab together, heading downtown. Barbara lived in the East Village, which was on the way to John’s place. Heading down Seventh Avenue through Times Square, the bright neon lights illuminated Barbara’s face. John had the impulse to lean in and kiss her.
“It’s a zoo, isn’t it,” she said, staring out the window, somewhat lost in her own thoughts.
“Yep,” he agreed, trapped with indecision. He knew it was too soon, but the desire was there. They continued in silence taking in the view as the cab slowly snaked its way through bumper-to-bumper traffic. As the minutes dragged on, it occurred to John how unusual it was for him to feel this way about a woman.
“Do you ever get sick of New York?” Barbara asked.
“Nope.” He knew he was being short, but he was trying to get control of his nerves.
Just lean across and kiss her.
But he was frozen.
The cab continued, the meter passing 10 bucks.
John’s heart was still racing when they made it to 13th Street.
Summoning his courage, he leaned across and put his hand on her forearm.
Barbara turned and smiled.
The beat in his chest went into overdrive. John put his hand to her chin to make sure she couldn’t escape, bridged the gap with his torso and kissed her.