I check my reflection in the hallway mirror one last time…perfect! It’s almost noon on Monday, and we are about to leave the house to go inform a few lucky P.C.N. customers of the change in their loan terms.
Arthur and I have transmuted into my stereotype of what a successful banker type should look like. Arthur got to keep his fit body and imposing height, but I gave his facial features a total makeover and I changed his hair: lighter color, shorter cut, and curlier texture. I, on the other hand, am a taller version of myself, and I have platinum blonde hair cut in a classic long bob, sleek and barely layered at the tips. My eyes are blue, and my face is a mash between Claudia Schiffer and Rebecca Romijn. I know, a bit over the top, but I couldn’t resist.
We are wearing expensive tailored suits; his black, mine a silvery gray, and we both have fancy Italian leather shoes. Let me tell you, being an out-of-this-world-five-foot-nine-plus-heels top-model is fun I bet Nathan will be impressed with “my people”.
Yesterday I had an early night; after visiting my parents I went straight home, did a mental recap of today’s schedule, watched some TV with Arthur and Sugar, and dove into bed super early. I wanted to be well rested for today, but it did me no good. I didn’t sleep at all. I was too agitated.
In just a few hours I will inform James that his original loan extension request has been accepted, and the idea of seeing him again is making me a helpless bundle of nerves. But I have to do it, as I want to see and study his reaction firsthand.
Analyzing his file earlier today, I was able to get a better idea of what his marriage with Vanessa is supposed to achieve for his company. For the first time since my decision of going to college, I was glad to have majored in business and happy to finally be able to exhume and apply some of the knowledge painfully acquired in the ECON 20000 classes.
But back to James. Mr. Van Horn basically extended his loan while keeping him on a very short leash. They agreed on a ten-year-extension with slightly higher interest rates but considerably lower installments, with the contingency of a quarterly reevaluation by P.C.N. with absolute no obligation for the bank to maintain the new, improved terms. I suppose that Vanessa’s dad was trying to ensure the continued well-being of his daughter by keeping her husband-to-be under constant blackmail. That family is really dysfunctional!
I find myself pitying Vanessa more with every passing day. I mean, think of a normal father who was aware of the situation; he would have simply told Vanessa the true reasons behind James’s hasty proposal. But from what I gathered when I was at their home, he still sees Vanessa as a five-year-old who must be sheltered from the cruelties of this world, so maybe he really believes that he’s sparing her unnecessary pain. He mustn’t be the romantic type, or he would never doom his own daughter to such a fate. Well, seeing his wife, he probably has no idea of what love is in the first place. However, he no longer has a say in the matter. Now it’s in my hands. Well, James’s, actually.
We arrive at the bank, my bank, ha ha, at two-thirty sharp. Nathan welcomes us and shows us into a posh meeting room where we’ll inform our customers of the big change in their good fortunes. I’m glad to see that he arranged coffee supplies for us.
As expected, I can tell Nathan is impressed with us when he informs us that our first appointment is already waiting, and that if we’re ready he could send them in. I nod in agreement and sit at the meeting table rehearsing the speech I’ve prepared one last time.
James is scheduled to be the fifth appointment, which means my stomach will stay churned longer, but I’ll be more practiced by the time I have to speak with him. He’ll be here at…four-thirty, exactly two hours from now.
Luckily, in those two hours I don’t have much time to fret over James, as each meeting takes up the majority of the planned time. Each one of them goes pretty much the same; the person or persons coming in look utterly terrified. They all think we will irreparably crash their business’s line of credit, and even more so after they take a good look at us.
Then, after I begin to talk, they become guarded, suspicious, and incredulous. In the end, when they finally realize that I’m not joking and that they will actually get improved terms, they all start going out of their way to thank us with profuse words of appreciation for the bank.
I’m not sure about the logic of my decisions from a business perspective, but it feels great to do some good for these people; everyone struck me as the hardworking, I-am-trying-to-get-my-business-back-on-track kind.
However, the moment James crosses the threshold of the room, all my cheeriness disappears and the nerves are back. I try to maintain a straight face as I deliver my first line.
“Good afternoon, Mr—” I pause to pretend I have to read his last name on the folder. “Avery. Please have a seat. I’m Amber Lewis, and this is my colleague, Robert Benson. Nice to meet you.”
I outstretch my hand for him to shake it. He does. It is the first prolonged physical contact we’ve had in twenty months! His strong, dry grip sends little electrical tingles all the way up from my fingertips, to my hand, to my upper arm. I wish I could hug him, jump on his lap and kiss him, run my hands through his hair, and nuzzle his neck while taking in his clean scent, my favorite smell in the entire world.
He lets go. I feel hollow inside.
He moves on to shake Arthur’s hand, thinking that I am hot. I don’t know if I should be flattered or jealous.
Once the introductions are over, I continue with my script. “Mr. Avery, I don’t know if you are aware that recently P.C.N. has undergone a change in ownership and management.” I pause to check if he’s following me, but he just stares back blankly. “With this change,” I continue, waiting for the penny to drop in his head, “there have also been some modifications in regard to the approach the bank has toward our lines of credit, and in particular for our small and medium-sized businesses customers. We are—”
“You mean that Adam Van Horn has a new board?”
Ding, ding.
“No, I mean that Adam Van Horn is no longer CEO, nor a shareholder in this bank. There has been a takeover,” I reply patiently.
I see the shock emerge in his eyes as his brain does the math.
“Who’s the new owner?” he asks.
He’s taking time while forming a pitch for his case in his head; he is beyond worried now. I’d better let him off the hook as soon as possible. Can somebody have a heart attack before forty?
“The hedge fund we work for,” I answer curtly, wanting to get to the good part quickly. “Anyhow, as I said before we brought you here to discuss the new management strategy for SME Businesses. We—”
“I can assure you both that my company will be solvent—we simply hit a bump in the road and needed some extra time to recover.” He interrupts me and goes on the defensive like his predecessors. People really don’t trust banks these days, do they? “But our financials are good,” he continues. “Our partners trust us and we have been in business for more than—”
“Mr. Avery.” I raise my hand to stop his rambling and put him out of his misery. “If you had let me finish, I would have told you that the new approach P.C.N. wants to adopt is more of a conciliatory one.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, still guarded.
“We went over rejected demands for a credit extension on SME business loans and reevaluated every request, case by case. I am happy to inform you that your original proposal, the one you submitted on—” I again pretend to have to check the date on his folder. “The second of January last year, is that correct, Mr. Avery?”
“Correct.” The hint of a smile is appearing on his lips.
“Has been accepted in full,” I conclude.
He stares at me open-mouthed, saying nothing.
At this point, Arthurs takes the stage with his part of the recital. I had him memorize an article on how important it is for banks and businesses to recover reciprocal trust.
“Mr. Avery, the new team at Prime Capital National Bank firmly believes in maintaining a healthy and trustful relationship with our customers, especially so to medium-sized businesses like yours, which for centuries have constituted the backbone of the economy in our country blah, blah, blah…”
While Arthur is talking, I look at James, who appears utterly shocked, to check what’s going on inside his head. It is pure mayhem!
He feels freed, surprised, elated, confused, undecided, shocked, scared. He instantly thinks he’s getting married to Vanessa in twelve days, and a boa constrictor of fear wraps himself around his chest. I can feel it because he passes the sensation on to me.
Immediately after his brain spins in a whirlwind of memories; at first, things go in the same order as at the retreat, but soon enough they become intertwined with memories of our relationship and, to my utter horror, also of his relationship with Vanessa.
It’s like he’s comparing and matching up the two of us. He’s reliving our first encounter on the train, and a moment later he is at the autumn gala where he met Vanessa; only this time the atmosphere, instead of being ghastly and dark, is warm and luminous. I get a flash of Vanessa telling him how embarrassed she was that day, of how she fell for him at their very first dance, and how miserable she was when he ignored her. She’s sweet and adorable, and I have a deep affection for her. I mean, James does. Uhh. Is it love? I don’t have time to muse about it because the next second the vision is over and his mind is back to us.
Me. It’s summertime and we’re sailing on Lake Michigan in his boat, the Sunrise. James is pulling the sheet to stretch the mainsail, and when he’s done he calls me to take control of the helm. As I grab the huge wheel, he positions himself behind me, our bodies touching, his hands firmly placed on mine. He then proceeds to give me sailing instructions that I remember were impossible to follow because, while talking, he was occasionally brushing his lips on my neck, turning my whole body into jelly. Needless to say, we anchored the ship shortly afterwards and ended the day below deck.
Vanessa. James is sliding down a skiing slope at an atrocious speed. Vanessa reaches him from behind, shouting something playfully, and speeds up in front of him; they are racing each other and he is having a lot of fun! I don’t know how to ski. He wanted me to try it, but I thought I was too old to learn, and, not liking the cold too much, I was just lazy. But now, living his elation and sense of freedom while he dashes forward pumping the muscles in his legs, I wish I had tried it. I hope their day didn’t finish as ours on the boat.
I’m trying to decide who wins this round when he switches to us again.
Me. We are at Amy’s New Year party, the one before the breakup, our last night together. He’s having a blast; we are drinking and doing stupid dance moves to the notes of Pharrell Williams’s “Happy”, and we are, well…happy. Then the night sort of fast forwards as we do a stupid drinking game until midnight when suddenly everybody is shouting the countdown. Ten, nine…he grabs me by the hips from his chair. Seven, six…I sit on his lap, leaning forward. Four, three…I look into his eyes. One… Midnight strikes and we are kissing passionately, both unaware of the noises and chaos around us.
Vanessa. I can tell it’s winter because it’s cold, and, of course, Vanessa is wearing an expensive looking white fur coat. James is slightly mad. They’re going to some sort of exclusive high society event. I see a banner; it’s New Year’s Eve again. This is truly a one-on-one match between her and me. They leave their coats at the reception desk and enter an elegant room filled with a crowd of mostly middle-aged people sipping champagne from fancy crystal glasses. A live orchestra is playing soft, classical music in the background. Vanessa’s parents are there, as well as James’s mother. James sighs inwardly while preparing himself for a night of fake smiles and absolute boredom. At midnight, he and Vanessa exchange a polite and composed peck on the lips, and he starts eyeing his watch, wondering when it would be considered polite to leave.
I’m pretty sure I scored this one. Go Ally.
Me. We are at his apartment. From my hairstyle, I can tell it must have been about six months after we started dating. And judging from the dress I’m wearing…mmm, I remember that night. It was one hell of a passionate one, and he has sharp memories of it too. I feel myself blushing as his mind brings me back on his bed, half-naked as his hands explore my body. This time, not only do I have my own memories of how I felt, but I’m also feeling all of his excitement. Mmm…I have difficulty keeping my eyes open, and I have to bite my lower lip not to moan aloud.
Abruptly I receive an image of Vanessa in a nightgown approaching me tantalizingly, boobs forwards, lips puckered. Oh no! My brain clicks on what’s about to happen, and I stop looking at James just in time not to witness him and Vanessa have sex.
I refuse to call it making love, and I don’t want to know who wins this one.
They had sex. What did you expect? She’s attractive and he’s, well…a man!
“Yuck,” I say aloud against my own will, recoiling in my chair.
Arthur stops talking and they both look at me.
“Is everything all right?” they ask at the same time.
“Yeah, sorry. I took a sip of coffee and it was cold,” I lie, glad James wasn’t looking at me, but pretending to pay attention to what Arthur was saying. “Disgusting,” I finish for more emphasis.
Arthur looks at me raising both eyebrows and I shrug. Luckily, at that moment an assistant politely knocks on the door and informs us that our five p.m. appointment is waiting outside. I look at my watch and see that it’s five fifteen already. I thank her and quickly dismiss James, telling him he just has some papers to sign before he can go.
I watch him leave the room mesmerized, my head as full of doubt as his. I wish I didn’t have to talk to two other persons, and that I could go straight home to analyze what I’ve just experienced.