Chapter 14
Jonathan
“Could you please stop filling my office with hundreds of flowers every day? This is getting ridiculous!” Claire texted me.
“I don’t want anyone thinking you’re available.”
“No one thinks I’m available! I told you no one here has ever tried to talk to me but you (except for Saturday), and I’m starting to rethink our arrangement...”
“Are you threatening me, Claire? You should see how people look at you when you step into meetings or when you walk down the hall. No one ever tried to talk to you because of that damn fraternization policy and they assumed you wouldn’t give them the time of day.”
“I don’t make idle threats.”
“I look forward to being punished. See you this evening.”
“Mr. Statham?” The therapist cleared her throat. “Are you ready to begin now?” I tried not to roll my eyes. I’d hired a mediator to speak with my mother and me once a week since she and I couldn’t be in the same room for more than five minutes without arguing.
Even though my mother thought this was a brilliant idea, I was beginning to have second thoughts; she didn’t look too composed today—her hair was in a frizzy ponytail, her pants weren’t ironed, and she reeked of beer and ashes.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Good.” She clasped her hands together. “We’ll start with a few simple questions to see what we’re dealing with. Mrs. Statham—I mean, Denise—what do you hope to accomplish by these sessions?”
“I want my son to respect me again...I want him to welcome me back into his life so we can start over.”
“Okay...” The therapist jotted down a few notes. “And what about you, Jonathan? What do you hope to gain from this?”
“I have nothing to gain from this...Maybe just to be able to sit in a room with her without yelling.
That would be sufficient enough.”
“See?” My mom crossed her legs. “That’s exactly what I was telling you about earlier, Doctor.
He only hired you to make himself look good, to make it seem like he’s trying, but he’s really not. He doesn’t give a damn about me, he—”
“Have you told her how many times you’ve relapsed? How many times you’ve been in and out of prison? How you technically should be in prison right now?”
“Damnit Jonathan! I’m trying to make something of myself! I’m working really hard! Stop holding my past against me! I’m—”
“Calm down, Denise.” The therapist handed her a glass of water. “Jonathan, we don’t need to start pointing fingers or assigning blame at this stage. We need to start by taking things very slowly.
Surely there is something you want to gain out of these sessions.” I leaned back in my chair and thought long and hard. “I don’t want to be angry with her anymore.”
“Great! That’s a good start. Now Denise, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer it as truthfully as possible. Jonathan, please don’t interrupt...Why do you think you and your son don’t have a good relationship?”
My mother looked at me and sighed. “I had Jonathan when I was twenty-five...I wasn’t ready for a baby but I did my best with what I had...Me and his father were working three jobs each just to make ends meet and before we knew it, we had another child, a baby girl...One day while we were going over more overdue bills, a few of his friends came over and asked if we wanted to try some meth—to stop stressing out so much you know? We both did it and—”
“They went from users to chronic users to two of the most sought after meth dealers in the whole state of Ohio. It’s a very heartwarming story.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m thinking about turning it into a Christmas play.”
“Jonathan, let her finish...” The therapist sighed.
“Anyway,” my mother said, “I was a horrible mother...I know that, and I’ve owned that but...I was on drugs...I wasn’t myself. I didn’t mean to leave my kids hungry or neglect them...It’s completely my fault that they were taken away from me, but I’m clean now and I want a chance to be the mother I should have been back then.”
“Very good start, Denise. Jonathan, how do you feel about what your mother just said?”
“What do you mean ‘how do I feel’?”
“How do you feel? Do you think she’s sincere?”
“My mother has been clean for what? Two months now? By the end of this month, she’ll be back in rehab and won’t even remember that this session happened—which is quite fitting, because you’re not the first therapist I’ve hired and she doesn’t remember any of the other therapists either...So, I feel rather...I feel nothing.”
“She apologized for leaving you and your sister hungry. She—”
“The word ‘hungry’ implies wanting something to eat—knowing that it’s only a matter of time before some type of food is placed in front of you. My mother did not leave us hungry. She left us starving. We went days, sometimes weeks, locked inside our trailer with just rice grains to eat. It wasn’t until I realized that I could climb out the window and get to the dumpsters that I realized what the word ‘ hungry’ meant.”
There was silence.
The therapist took off her glasses and looked back and forth between the two of us. “Okay, we clearly have a lot of work to do over the next few months....Let’s take a break and reconvene next week. Okay?”
“Great.” I stood up and offered a hug to my mother. Even though I was beyond furious with her, I always made a point to do that, just in case she relapsed before our next encounter and I wouldn’t see her for another eight months.
“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” She hugged me back. “We don’t have to say a word to each other. We could go to one of those restaurants that plays movies. We never watched any movies together...”
And we probably never will.
“Maybe some other time. I have a date tonight.”
I parked in front of Claire’s house and hit my emergency brake so my car wouldn’t roll down the hill.
I’d been meaning to ask why the hell she’d bought a house at the top of a slope; it didn’t seem safe.
“You’re early...What type of car is that?” She texted me.
“A Murcielago. The meeting was cut short. Take your time getting ready...Wear a dress.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through a few of my emails, skimming through most of them.
I’d been receiving at least five hundred a day since word got out about my company going public. I’d even had to hire a temporary email consultant to sort through them all.
This IPO is going to be the death of me...
I looked up and saw Claire locking the front door of her house. I stepped out of the car and walked over to the passenger side.
“Nice pantsuit.” I laughed. “I actually like this one.”
“Thank you. I figured I’d wear the outfit you liked me in best.” She slipped into the car.
I walked back over to my side and sped away.
“Where are we going today?” she asked. “Did you shut down Ocean Beach so we could eat there?”
“Would you like me to?”
She shook her head and smiled.
“We’re going to Pittsburgh Rivers.”
“What?” She paled.
“Pittsburgh Rivers. It’s a specialty restaurant a few miles from here. They have themed meals from the city. I was hoping you’d be able to suggest some things for me to try since that’s your hometown.”
“Oh...”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She turned her head towards the window. “I’m fine.” I pulled into the parking lot minutes later and looked at her. She hadn’t said much of anything on the drive over. She’d been strangely quiet and hadn’t given me any of her usual sarcasm.
“Are you sure that you’re okay, Claire? We don’t have to eat here if you don’t want to. We can go to my beach house or—”
“I’m sure. I’m just a little tired...”
I knew she was lying, but I decided not to push the issue any further. I helped her out of the car and led her into the restaurant.
“Good evening, Mr. Statham. Right this way.” The host greeted me as soon as I stepped inside and ushered us into a private room.
The walls were painted in murals of all the popular Pittsburgh landmarks—Heinz Field, Cathedral of Learning, Carnegie Museum—and I thought Claire would start chatting about them, but she didn’t say a word.
“Welcome to Pittsburgh Rivers, San Francisco’s own version of the great city of Pittsburgh,” our waiter said. He pulled a few menus from his apron and looked back and forth between us. “Will you two require a full or a half menu tonight? The Hot Metal Bridge special is only available on the full one.”
“Full.” I noticed Claire wincing.
“Fine choice. I’ll bring out those menus right away sir. Would you be interested in the chef’s special wine? It was imported directly from a French winery.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a wonderful wine, a hand-pressed 1975 Bordeaux and—” Claire started coughing and stood up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll be right back.”
“No, thank you...” I watched her saunter off. “We’ll have your best champagne.”
“Yes sir.” He walked away.
I scrolled through my emails again, waiting on Claire to rejoin me at the table, but twenty minutes passed and she never returned.
I stood up and headed to the bathroom, knocking before I walked in. “Claire?”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She sighed.
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. I walked past all the empty stalls and spotted her sitting at a vanity with her head down.
“What’s wrong?” I touched her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Can we...” She slowly turned around to face me. “Can we please get the hell out of here?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere but here...”
I reached for her hand and led her back outside. I wanted to drive to my beach house, but it was forty minutes away so I headed for my condo downtown.
Once again, she said nothing to me during the drive. She kept her head turned towards the window and I caught her wiping away a stray tear.
“Welcome back, Mr. Statham.” The valet caught my keys as soon as I pulled up to the building.
“Thank you, Mr. Reese.” I helped Claire out of the car. “Could you keep it on the bottom level?”
“Of course.”
I pulled Claire close to me as we stepped onto the elevator, watching her face pale in the reflection of the doors. When we reached my place, I led her over to a sofa and sat next to her.
“Talk to me...Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just having a bad day.” She forced a smile. “Do you have any movies here? We should watch—”
I cupped her face in my hands. “If you and I are going to work, you’re going to have to open up to me...If this was strictly physical or if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be concerned, but I do care.
You can trust me.”
“So, you don’t have any movies here?”
“We’re not watching any movies. You’re going to tell me why you’re upset. You completely changed once I mentioned Pittsburgh Rivers and I want to know why. You can sit here and be silent for as long as you want, but we’re not leaving this room until you tell me.” She leaned back against the couch and shut her eyes.
Fair enough... I tapped my phone and prepared to order dinner, but she turned to face me.
“My ex-husband proposed to me at Heinz Field,” she said. “He knew one of the physical trainers that worked for the football team and he let us in after hours. I thought we were going there to take a private tour, but he walked me out to the fifty yard line and proposed to me...It was so romantic. He even managed to get the scoreboard to read ‘Will you marry me?’ in bright yellow lights. I just knew that he was the one after that...until fourteen years later when I found out that he and my best friend had been having an affair and she was pregnant by him...Everything that I thought was beautiful about my life in Pittsburgh became ugly after that.”
I suddenly felt guilty for suggesting that restaurant, for thinking it would stir up good memories and conversation.
“I don’t think about it as much as I used to, but there are still little reminders here or there and I just...”
“You just what?” I pulled her closer.
“I still can’t believe it on some days...My best friend and my husband? The two people I trusted the most?” She sighed. “She and I used to take a road trip to New York every year to celebrate her birthday. We always did the same thing: Times Square, a Broadway play, and a night on the town...”
“The last time we went there together, she was three months pregnant and I was buying her all these cute little baby clothes because I was so happy for her...I can’t help but think how sick of a person she really was—to celebrate her birthday with me, knowing that my husband’s child was growing inside of her...How f*cking disgusting is that?” She leaned against me. “When I asked my husband why he did it—why he would even think to cheat on me with my best friend, he said there’d always been something between the two of them. He said he’d had feelings for her since the first day they met, but he thought being with me was the safe and secure choice...Then, one night while they were drinking—at my house ironically, one thing led to another and...And after years of suppressing their feelings, they just couldn’t deny it anymore...Isn’t that the stupidest shit you’ve ever heard?”
I didn’t say anything. I just gently rubbed her back.
“They had another little girl last year...They’ve traveled all around the world together and done all the things I thought he and I would be doing together at this point...He even took her to the Panama Canal, where we were supposed to go...He said he would take me sailing there for our fifteenth anniversary, but we never made it because...because...” She stopped and shook her head.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Claire...”
I expected her to say more, to cry even, but she simply buried her head in my chest and drifted into a deep sleep.
I felt Claire nuzzling my chest and set my phone down.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
“Nine fifteen. Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?”
“No. I’m okay.” She moved out of my lap. “You can take me home now.” I don’t think so...
“What do you normally do when you’re upset? What makes you feel better?”
“Home Depot...Or more recently, sex with you.”
I laughed. “The home improvement store? Why?”
“I can’t explain it. One step inside that store and I just...All my problems go away for a while. I get lost in the paint swatches, the tiles, the bathroom fixtures, and— everything.”
“Would you like to go there now?”
“It closed at nine o’ clock...” She frowned.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Yes...If it were possible, right now would be a perfect time to go.” I picked up my phone. “Hey, Corey? I need you to do me a favor.”
“The manager says you have two hours and he wants every item you take to be scanned on register number one. He wants a s Tablet the day it comes out, and he’ll send you the bill tomorrow.” Corey typed a few things onto his tablet and the doors to Home Depot slid open.
Claire looked up at me and smiled as she made her way into the store, leaving me standing alone with Corey.
“Okay, seriously...” Corey said once she was out of earshot. “Does she have any friends who look half as good as she does? I need someone too, you know.”
“Watch it. I thought you had a date tonight. What happened with that?”
“She was an airhead. All she talked about was what type of clothes she wanted to wear to some celebrity party in ll.A...We did have sex in my car on the way back though—which was amazing, but I don’t think I can sit through another dinner with her. One was painful enough.”
“I’m sure you’ll have someone else by tomorrow. Did you finish the Sorrento account?”
“Of course I did. No thanks to you.” He laughed. “We now have the best security tracking system I’ve ever seen. It’s been three days and I haven’t been able to hack into it from the outside. That’s a pretty good sign.”
“Good to know. Could you deactivate all the cameras in the store?”
“Ten steps ahead of you.” He patted my shoulder and started stepping backwards. “The next time you want to interrupt my favorite show, just so you can break into a hardware store after-hours, please hesitate to let me know.”
I walked over to where I saw Claire disappear to and spotted her on the ceiling fan aisle.
“Thank you so much.” Her eyes met mine. “I only need to get a few things...I left my wallet at home so I’ll pay you back for —”
“Get anything you want. You should know that you don’t have to pay me back.” Her eyes lit up. “Anything I want?”
“Yes.” I kissed her lips. “Anything you want.”
“Well, in that case, we might be here for a while...”
It was midnight by the time she’d picked out everything she wanted, and we’d filled six carts to capacity.
We were walking around the small pond in the outdoor greenery area, holding hands and laughing at the fish that were flopping across the surface.
“When do you want to start scanning everything?” She looked up at me.
“Never. We’re not scanning any of it. I’ll write the manager a check and cover all his inventory losses at the end of the year.”
“Okay...Well, are we going to start loading up your car? How many trips do you think it’ll—”
“It’s already been taken care of.” I pulled her into my arms. “Don’t worry about it.” I smiled as I slid a hand underneath her shirt. “You know, your creativity never ceases to amaze me...”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why do you like wearing pantsuits all of sudden? You’ve been wearing them all week.” She smirked. “No reason. I haven’t put that much thought into it.” She tried to step away from me, but I tightened my grip around her.
“Do you honestly think wearing pantsuits will keep me from—”
“From f*cking me inside of Home Depot? I hope so.”
I unsnapped her bra and kissed her neck. “It won’t.”
“Jonathan, there are cameras! I’m—”
“Corey turned them all off.” I pulled her down into a bed of grass. “My driver won’t be here with the truck for another hour. That’s plenty of time, don’t you think?” I reached down and unzipped her pants.
“Have I ever told you that you’re ridiculously insatiable?”
“Only when it comes to you.”
April 14, 2013
Dear Journal,
I wish there was a better way to screen potential employees for jobs, a better way to see through people’s bullshit.
In every interview, the candidate always says exactly what he’s supposed to say: “My biggest weakness is trying to be a perfectionist all the time.” “I truly believe I’m the best person for this job because I’m driven, I work hard, and I’m always willing to go the extra mile.” “Oh no, I’ve never been late to work. Ever.”
During his trial period, he’s the most exemplary candidate in the world—showing up early every day, offering to buy all his coworkers coffee, and staying late on every campaign assignment...But as soon as that ninety day trial period is up, he becomes an ass. A complete and total ass.
We hired a new regional director at the beginning of the year, to help us revive our city billboard operations, and once he was “officially” in the position he started acting like he was the CEO.
He took over in all the meetings—talking over anyone who disagreed with him and insisting that his ideas were “simply the best.” He began ordering my associates around—treating them like crap, and badmouthing them at all our directors’ seminars.
While he was in the middle of saying how he couldn’t believe “how dimwitted and dumb” they were—questioning how any of them had “ever managed to get through college in the first place,” I let him have it.
I told him that he was a f*cking idiot and that the only reason we agreed to hire him was because our first choice failed the drug test. (By the way, when did employers start testing for opium? And where the hell do people find opium?!)
“And yeah,” I said, “my associates may be dumb as rocks and they may not know a goddamn thing about marketing, but they’re my associates and nobody can talk bad about them but me!” People these days,
Claire