What? No, I didn’t sign off on that. Hold on.” I stare at the cabbie’s face in the rear-view mirror. He stares right back at me with his watery gaze. I hate those eyes. I don’t know the man, but I hate his eyes. They remind me too much of my father. I turn my head and look out the window. “State and Main. No, not you, Rosemary.”
My intrepid assistant’s voice drones in my ear, going over the specifics of a meeting that won’t have any different result from the one I just left. A woman stands on the sidewalk, looking at me through the rain and window of the cab with her mouth slightly open. Not that I am interested in her looks or anything, she’s attractive, I guess, I just want to ask her why she’s standing in the rain without an umbrella.
The cab pulls away and I turn my attention back to Rosemary. My curiosity about the stranger will just have to go unanswered. “Did you make sure my name or the company’s name not on anything?”
Of course, she’s sure. Rosemary never lets anything slip by her. She even catches when the shade of my brown belt doesn’t match the shade of the brown shoes, and always has a quick fix hidden away in the bottom drawer of her desk.
“And make sure the foundation is clean. I don’t want any ties to it, not even in casual emails. Make sure the board and the directors know that. Not a single mention of my name.” I close my eyes and prepare myself for the questions. They always come. If they didn’t, I would worry.
“Trust me, Rosemary, he hates me. And out of spite, he’d refuse it and either not go or be stuck up to the neck in student loans for the rest of his natural born life.”
We go through the same argument every time. She thinks I’m being silly. I think she doesn’t know better. She has no idea what it’s like to have a family who doesn’t want anything to do with her. She has parents who put her through college and then supported her while she jumped from job to job until she landed at my office. And since I didn’t care about her degree in ancient Greek literature, or even if she had a degree, I hired her. A decision I am coming to regret. Rosemary has an opinion about everything and likes to share it with me.
“Fine, Rosemary. Fine. And the University. The Chancellor knows the gift is contingent on him not knowing?”
The buildings race past as the driver navigates the crowded city streets and I look out at them instead of paying attention to the current lecture. Rosemary emphatically disagrees with my decision to not only put money towards the education of an “ungrateful” lout, as she calls him, but to pave the way to paying for the education in secret by giving the University a tidy sum of money.
“Tell them I only want to deal with one person on this. Not a committee and not a team, oh and make sure they have a direct line to the Chancellor. No. Not the Chancellor herself. I’m not that much of an ass.”
The driver looks up at me in the rear-view mirror at the sound of Rosemary’s loud laugh through the phone. He smirks and then returns to watching the traffic. Looks like he disagrees with me as much as Rosemary does. I’m tempted to give him Rosemary’s number. Set them up on a date, but Rosemary would find a worse punishment for me.
“Yeah, and Rosemary? Cut the check, but don’t send it. I want to deliver it myself.”
She hates it when I do things she thinks are beneath me. But this isn’t about delivering a check. This is about making sure the University is going to play ball with me. Even if they don’t want to.
The cab pulls up to my building just as I hang up with Rosemary. She’s right. I am an asshole, but not so much of an ass that I’ll make her work later than me or from home. Not that she ever complains about her hours. She’s usually at the office before me and gives me dirty looks when I head out earlier than her. The only reason I know she works for me and not the other way around is that I sign her checks.
I step out of the cab and before any rain hits my head, Harvey runs out with an umbrella. “Good evening, Mr. Parker.”
Harvey is probably the one person after Rosemary who knows all the dirty little secrets. He’s my gatekeeper at home, much the way Rosemary is my gatekeeper at work. “Evening, Harvey. How’s your wife?”
We walk towards the awning and I wait a few moments while he shakes out the umbrella. “She’s good. Just got back from a visit to our son. Getting ready for the grand-baby.” He hurries ahead of me and pulls the door open.
“When’s she due?” I know he’s told me. But I haven’t written it down so I don’t remember the date.
“Not for three months, but you know Gladys.” I don’t actually. “When are you going to finally settle down, Mr. Parker? You need a wife and a family. In fact, you need a family almost as much as you need food and oxygen.”
No I don’t. I want a family, but I don’t need one. After my father died, my half-brothers made sure I didn’t need a family. “I’m married to the business, Harvey. I need a wife who understands that.”
My hand lands on his shoulder and I squeeze my fingers into his massive shoulder. Before Harvey came to our building, he was a police officer. Walked the beat for too many years and when they stopped walking beats, he drove the patrol car around. I know why he works as a doorman. Gladys killed his idea of retirement and opening and closing the door for people is a welcome change from spending twenty-four hours a day with his wife. I’m not sure why he insists I need to get married.
He’s already called the elevator for me. We installed a little gizmo at his desk, allowing him to call the elevator from there. He must have hit the button before greeting me at my cab.
“Have a good night, Mr. Parker.”
“You too Harvey.” I don’t bother with pressing any buttons. There aren’t any inside the elevator. This is my elevator. The only one that goes to my floor, and besides Harvey and Rosemary, I’m its only passenger.
A night with Netflix, leftover takeout from the fridge, and the reports on the latest potential acquisition. Yeah, I can definitely see a woman wanting to be part of my life. Especially after she learns of some of my preferences.
Order is important in my life. In all parts of my life. From work, to home, and especially to the bedroom.
But women see the imagined bank account, convince themselves they can put up with everything. Work. Personal habits. Bedroom habits. All of it. They never can. Sure, they might try, give it the ol’ college try, but none have been able to follow through. Not to the level I am interested in at least.
So, Netflix and leftovers is my evening routine. Except for the few nights when I find company with a woman who shares in my tastes. But even then, it’s anonymous. There’s no chance of a relationship or knowing her wants and wishes beyond the hotel room we happen to be using. But then, her wants and wishes aren’t important. Unless they are my wants and wishes.