The Fairmont suite must have cost a pretty penny. Twenty-third floor. Wraparound views of the city and the bay. Wet bar. Full stereo system. Two and a half bathrooms. Five grand a night, Gabe guessed, although what did he know of such extravagances, except that he lived among them.
Joe Stone from HR stood at the door of the suite, holding a basket into which each of the partners was supposed to put his or her phone. “Company offsite policy!” said Joe. Joe loved offsites. He got all hopped up on the change of scenery. He usually introduced some touchy-feely get-to-know-your-coworkers game, the sort of game that really worked well only when people had been drinking. Was anybody drinking? Gabe cast a hopeful look at the wet bar. Of course not, it was eight fifteen in the morning. Just carafes of orange juice and cranberry juice, and coffee.
“Give up the phone!” cried Joe merrily. He made a motion like he was going to snatch it out of Gabe’s hands, but Gabe was only too happy to comply. His phone had been off all morning. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. His heart was still hammering away from the close call on the bridge. He dropped it into the basket. “Ready to brainstorm?” said Joe, gesturing to the plush couches. “Have a coffee first. You look terrible. Rough weekend?”
“Something like that,” said Gabe. “Rough drive in.” Close call with that Nissan. Team building and brainstorming were the last things in the world he felt like doing. His brain didn’t seem like an actual brain anymore, more like a bowl of pudding, unformed and useless.
Do it now, Gabe. Get it over with. Do it now.
Gabe took his coffee and strolled to the windows to check out the panoramic view. Alcatraz and the San Francisco Bay (again), the double mounds of Twin Peaks, the financial district. And now that he was no longer on the Golden Gate he had a spectacular view of the Great Lady herself. Gabe didn’t think anyone called the Golden Gate the Great Lady; he wasn’t sure if it had any nickname at all. But it should. Maybe he’d get it started.
Now, Gabe. Now is a good time.
But it wasn’t a good time; the partners were settling onto the couches and helping themselves to pastries and tropical fruit salad.
“Gabe?” said a voice. “Gabe? You with us?” Joe Stone was setting up a giant whiteboard, and Kelsey was passing out legal pads and perfectly sharpened number two pencils. It was time to brainstorm.
Now, Gabe? No, not now. Don’t be an idiot.
“Of course,” he said. “You bet.” In fact he was a million miles away. He was thinking about the ranch, imagining himself there. He could feel the presence of the cattle surrounding him, shaking their heads and lowing; he could see the ranch house in the distance, and behind it the majestic and forgiving Wyoming sky. The biggest sky in the world. Bigger than all of them; bigger than all of this.
At the midmorning break he thought, Now. Yes. He pulled aside Joe Stone. “Listen,” he said. “When you get a minute. I don’t want to interrupt the morning. But maybe during lunch, or after the afternoon session. I’d love to talk to you, one on one.”
“Sure thing,” said Joe. The lenses of his glasses caught the light so his expression was inscrutable. He clapped Gabe on the back, a friendly, man-to-man gesture, probably no real meaning behind it. “I’m all ears,” said Joe. He was already moving on to the next person he needed to speak to, but over his shoulder he said, “I’ll come find you in a quiet moment.”