this.”
“I know. Sorry.” Calvin stopped pacing.
“It’s just, when you find one of these ‘lost puppies,’ you—”
“We’ve found some good employees that way. And the student sponsor scheme has been an almost universal success.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that, it has.”
For the past few years their company had given out a small number of partial and full-ride scholarships to college students in exchange for their agreeing to work with the company for a set number of years after graduation.
“But it’s the emotional cost on you when you get attached to these lost puppies and they can’t—or won’t—return your feelings. That’s what concerns me.”
Calvin sighed. “There’s nothing between Brock and me.”
“Yet.”
“Tim. Enough of you playing my Jewish mother. Now what about us and the Jenkins account? You remember what we agreed last month.”
“You agreed, I still had reservations.”
They talked the issue over for another ten minutes, Calvin wanting to move forward, Tim dragging his heels.
“The recession is beginning to bite. We will lose some clients when they go under. The Tilbury account is particularly shaky.” Calvin had begun pacing again.
“Yeah. But can we take on something so big? Will we be over-reaching ourselves?”
“Look, schedule a meeting between our people and their people for next week so we can hammer out exactly what they need and—”
“You’ll still be in Texas won’t you?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to handle it. Sorry. If—after meeting them—you think it’s not a good fit for us, then I’ll back your decision.”
They talked a minute or so longer, but finally settled on Calvin’s compromise.
“Well, I better let you go. No doubt you have a hot date planned with your Brock.”
“He is not my Brock, and all I plan to do this evening is more work then get to bed. I’ve been neglecting my running lately, so I want to get an early start in the morning before the heat.”
“Sounds so romantic.”
“Not everyone can live the American dream of a spouse, kid, dog and house with a white picket fence.”
“It’s two kids, and we don’t have a white picket fence,” Tim protested.
Calvin just rolled his eyes. “Say goodnight, Gracie.”
“Oh, God, now he’s quoting old TV shows at me.”
“At least it wasn’t lyrics from a Broadway show.”
“True. But please, Cal, keep yourself safe. And I don’t just mean condoms.”
Calvin was touched by Tim’s concern. “I promise. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Calvin hung up, sighed, walked into the kitchen, snagged a bottle of beer and carried it onto the screened-in porch.
* * * *
Rubbing at his gritty eyes, Calvin glanced down at the clock on his laptop. 10:17 pm. He decided he’d done enough for the day. Remembering his promise to himself to go for a run the next morning, Calvin shut down the laptop, took it inside and put it back on Charge. Then after kicking off his sneakers, he pulled off his clothes, dropped them on the floor by his airbed, and padded into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later he was showered and climbing into bed, but soon discovered he couldn’t sleep. Images of the day floated across his mind, most of them involving Brock, either real or imagined.
“Shit!” Calvin rolled over and grabbed the pillow next to his. Brock’s pillow, the little voice in his head said. Calvin told it to shut up.
Fifteen minutes ticked slowly by, and Calvin was still as awake as when he went to bed.
“Oh, fuck it.”
Calvin got up, went into the bathroom, and opened the medicine cabinet. Breaking an Ambien in two, he returned one piece to the bottle, and swallowed the other half with some water. Deciding he might as well take a piss while he was there, and feeling a little sleepy, he opted to sit rather than stand. But as soon as he put his full weight on the seat, it pitched sideways.
“Fucking hell!”
A now fully awake—and slightly bruised—Calvin returned to his bed. Getting out
“I know. Sorry.” Calvin stopped pacing.
“It’s just, when you find one of these ‘lost puppies,’ you—”
“We’ve found some good employees that way. And the student sponsor scheme has been an almost universal success.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that, it has.”
For the past few years their company had given out a small number of partial and full-ride scholarships to college students in exchange for their agreeing to work with the company for a set number of years after graduation.
“But it’s the emotional cost on you when you get attached to these lost puppies and they can’t—or won’t—return your feelings. That’s what concerns me.”
Calvin sighed. “There’s nothing between Brock and me.”
“Yet.”
“Tim. Enough of you playing my Jewish mother. Now what about us and the Jenkins account? You remember what we agreed last month.”
“You agreed, I still had reservations.”
They talked the issue over for another ten minutes, Calvin wanting to move forward, Tim dragging his heels.
“The recession is beginning to bite. We will lose some clients when they go under. The Tilbury account is particularly shaky.” Calvin had begun pacing again.
“Yeah. But can we take on something so big? Will we be over-reaching ourselves?”
“Look, schedule a meeting between our people and their people for next week so we can hammer out exactly what they need and—”
“You’ll still be in Texas won’t you?”
“Yeah. You’ll have to handle it. Sorry. If—after meeting them—you think it’s not a good fit for us, then I’ll back your decision.”
They talked a minute or so longer, but finally settled on Calvin’s compromise.
“Well, I better let you go. No doubt you have a hot date planned with your Brock.”
“He is not my Brock, and all I plan to do this evening is more work then get to bed. I’ve been neglecting my running lately, so I want to get an early start in the morning before the heat.”
“Sounds so romantic.”
“Not everyone can live the American dream of a spouse, kid, dog and house with a white picket fence.”
“It’s two kids, and we don’t have a white picket fence,” Tim protested.
Calvin just rolled his eyes. “Say goodnight, Gracie.”
“Oh, God, now he’s quoting old TV shows at me.”
“At least it wasn’t lyrics from a Broadway show.”
“True. But please, Cal, keep yourself safe. And I don’t just mean condoms.”
Calvin was touched by Tim’s concern. “I promise. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Calvin hung up, sighed, walked into the kitchen, snagged a bottle of beer and carried it onto the screened-in porch.
* * * *
Rubbing at his gritty eyes, Calvin glanced down at the clock on his laptop. 10:17 pm. He decided he’d done enough for the day. Remembering his promise to himself to go for a run the next morning, Calvin shut down the laptop, took it inside and put it back on Charge. Then after kicking off his sneakers, he pulled off his clothes, dropped them on the floor by his airbed, and padded into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later he was showered and climbing into bed, but soon discovered he couldn’t sleep. Images of the day floated across his mind, most of them involving Brock, either real or imagined.
“Shit!” Calvin rolled over and grabbed the pillow next to his. Brock’s pillow, the little voice in his head said. Calvin told it to shut up.
Fifteen minutes ticked slowly by, and Calvin was still as awake as when he went to bed.
“Oh, fuck it.”
Calvin got up, went into the bathroom, and opened the medicine cabinet. Breaking an Ambien in two, he returned one piece to the bottle, and swallowed the other half with some water. Deciding he might as well take a piss while he was there, and feeling a little sleepy, he opted to sit rather than stand. But as soon as he put his full weight on the seat, it pitched sideways.
“Fucking hell!”
A now fully awake—and slightly bruised—Calvin returned to his bed. Getting out