Adulation (19 page)

“It makes you more attractive to me,” he said as he sipped the last of his wine.

“What does?” I asked, perking up.

“Your not having kids.”

“Oh,” was all I could answer.

“If it was so important to you, then why didn’t you adopt?”

“My husband didn’t want to,” I explained. “And I didn’t want to be a single parent.”

“That’s not so bad. Being a single parent, I mean.”

One minute this guy was telling me parenthood sucks, and the next minute he was telling me it’s not so bad? What, was he running for office?

“You really think so?”

“I do. Society puts all these pressures on what a family is supposed to look like, and it’s all some
 
Leave It to Beaver
 
myth. None of it—the father and mother, the tidy house—is true. All of it is idealized, and single parenthood and divorce are villainized.”

“I believe that.”

“Trust me, had my wife and I stayed married, we would’ve done far worse damage to our kids than our divorce did. I actually think I’m a better father now than I was before.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say next, and found myself wondering what would’ve happened to Teddy and  me when our kids had grown up and moved away. I was envisioning us as two strangers in an empty house with nothing to say to each other when Josh interrupted my thoughts.

“You couldn’t have wanted them that badly,” he said. “I know several single women, and even a single guy, come to think of it, who went through hell and high water to have a child, be it through adoption or in vitro or hiring a surrogate.”

I felt as if he’d just pushed me against a wall. “Just because I didn’t want to raise a child alone doesn’t mean I didn’t want one.”

Josh looked at me not only unpersuaded, but also as if I was trying to pull a fast one over him. “Sunny,” he said.

“This is a great first date,” I said.

He was either indifferent or naive to my sarcasm. “I guess it’s a matter of what you really wantmost and what you’re willing to give up in order to get it. But I say you’re no worse off for having comethis far without a child. If anything, you’ll live longer. I don’t doubt for a minute that you would be aterrific mom. Anyone who runs a stockroom the way you do would be sure to run a household with thesame love and adoration. But face it: It wasn’t your path. If you really wanted a kid—I mean
 
reallywanted
 
one—by God, Sunny, nothing would have stopped you.”

Something about the way he said those last words got to me, as if he was privy to information I’dnot disclosed. I liked the idea of being tenacious, and I had been at one time, or so I thought. But whenwas the last time I had
 
really wanted
 
something?

I was a great mapmaker. In high school I’d organized treasure hunts to raise money for the schoolliterary magazine and the yearbook in lieu of tired bake sales, and the place became a labyrinth for me tosketch out intricate plot points and riddles, a jigsaw puzzle one piece at a time. And along the way thescavengers found Wacky Whippers and rubber bracelets and Rubik’s Cubes, the ultimate prize being acoveted Sony Walkman complete with cassette player
 
and
 
AM/FM radio. But when it came to mappingout my own life, I’d painted in broad strokes: go to college, get married, have a family, and become thefemale Stephen King in terms of monumental publishing success. The milestones felt so inevitable that thedetails of how they would actually come about hadn’t occurred to me.

It struck me that I hadn’t wanted children as much as I had wanted Teddy, and I couldn’t have thelatter unless I wanted the former. It further occurred to me that I hadn’t wanted Teddy as much as I’dwanted whatever it was that I was looking for in a relationship and could never quite find.

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked Josh, hoping my tone masked longing with

skepticism. “You just met me.”

You don’t want to know me. I’m not who you think I am.
 
I could see the words in my mind’s eye.

“You’re right,” said Josh. “I don’t know you. But I’d like to.”

“Thanks,” I said, hyper-aware of the awkward silence where I was supposed to answer, “I’d like to get to know you too.” But at that moment I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

I decided to go for broke, lay it all out on the table. After all, I had nothing to lose at this point. Besides, Theo was right. It was time to stop letting what Teddy did control my life.

“My husband cheated on me,” I blurted.

“That sucks,” said Josh.

I took a sip of my drink. “That’s not the best part, though. The best part is that he informed me about it by way of a candid interview on TV.”

A look of horror registered across his face, and I couldn’t tell if I’d pushed the envelope too far or if he was empathizing with me.

It was my turn to backpedal. “I’m exaggerating. He was drunk in a bar, and the local news happened to be there. But still. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

His expression softened, and he seemed to want to reach across the table and take my hand, uncertain of where the first date boundary lines were drawn.

“You didn’t deserve that, Sunny.”

He said it so earnestly, with such compassion that it brought tears to my eyes. I switched to a glass of water and took a sip in an effort to quickly compose myself, lest a tear slip out and down my cheek.

We finished our meal, and although we both passed on dessert, we continued to sit at the table and talk.

“So what do you think, Sunny? I know I came off a bit rough, but I’m a really decent guy if you give me a chance.”

The moment seemed to present itself. “About that...” I started.

“Uh-oh,” said Josh. “You’re not attracted to me?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, yes, I think you’re good-looking and nice and all that.”

Oh, good Lord...

“It’s just that...” I searched for tact, then decided to just have out with it. “Well, you’re my
 
boss
 
. And I’m hesitant to get involved with someone in the company. I’ve never done it before, and I’m concerned. Especially given the imbalance of power.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a regional manager and I’m a stock manager. Major, major conflict of interest, not to mention that ultimately I have to answer to you.”

Josh seemed to consider this as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Well, if it makes you that uncomfortable, OK. But I’m not worried about it.”

“Why not?”

“First tell me why you are. Tell me your concerns.” He said this in a very professional tone.

“For one, I’m worried about what others in the company will say. I am totally, completely devoted to Whitford’s,” I said, mentally admonishing myself for the double adverb:
 
totally completely?
 
“Like, sports fan loyal. I know the names of everyone in corporate, right down to the janitors. I wear the baseball cap with the logo at the company picnic.”

“I’m not planning to make an announcement in the newsletter.”

“I
 
read
 
the newsletter,” I added. “Every month. And what happens if one of us loses interest or breaks it off, regardless of why?”

“I wouldn’t fire you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. And how often does a regional manager  show up at the store—once every other month? Every three months? It’s not like we’re

going to see each other every day. Look, these things aren’t a problem unless someone makes it a problem. Keep your work life at work and your home life at home, and everything’s OK.”

“Yes, but you have to evaluate my job performance.”

“Actually, that’s Angela and Phil’s job.”

“Which brings me back to my original point,” I said.

“Sunny, you’re not having an affair with the president of the company, you’re not sleeping with the director to get a better part in the movie, and you’re not sexually harassing anyone. I like you, and I’d like to start seeing you.”

“You live in New Jersey,” I pointed out.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“I don’t do long-distance dating.”

He laughed again. “That’s long-distance dating to you? Let me tell you about my cousin. Met his wife on the Internet in a chat room. She lived in Indonesia. After three months of what turned out to be ridiculously expensive phone calls and a bunch of e-mails, he went over there to meet her in person. Another three months after that, she packed her bags and moved to Connecticut to marry him. They just celebrated their ten-year anniversary.”

“Yeah, but it takes just as long to get over the George Washington Bridge as it does to get to Indonesia.”

He nodded his head in concession. “Good point. So I’ll take full responsibility for the traveling. I’ll come to you.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Sunny, throw me a bone here!”

Despite his blasé attitude toward parenthood and his Tony Robbins-type managerial style, Joshua Hamilton was  witty and smart. I surmised that we had enough things in common to hold a conversation and share a pleasant afternoon, and enough differences to teach each other a thing or two.

“There’s no pressure, really,” said Josh. “I think you’re an attractive, intelligent, funny woman, and I’d love to spend some time with you. That’s all. No strings attached. You don’t even have to give me an answer tonight. Tonight I say thank you for the enjoyable evening and for keeping me company so that I wouldn’t have to spend another night eating takeout in my hotel room.”

“I had an enjoyable evening too,” I replied, not sure whether I meant it.

We were quiet in the car during the ride back to Whitford’s. By the time we got to the parking lot and he pulled up next to the Old Banana, I had decided not to see Joshua Hamilton socially again. There were too many potential complications. In fact, I regretted the entire evening, already dreading the next time he’d be making an unannounced store visit and inspecting my stockroom yet again.

He kept the car idling as I fumbled in my purse for my keys, and after I found and jingled them, he leaned over, gently took hold of my chin with his thumb and forefinger, and kissed me gingerly on the lips, lingering there only for a second. “Good night, Sunny,” he practically whispered, his eyes soft and lit by the glow of the streetlamp.

And just like that, I changed my mind.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Danny Masters

D
ANNY HAD SWORN
 
early on that he was not going to be like his father, that he would drink only to have agood time with his friends and know when enough was enough.

The problem was that even when he knew he’d had more than enough, he didn’t want to stop.

In college he was serious and studious and wrote every day. His only other commitment was tomeet girls, and he did so by showing up at poetry slams and Psychology 101 experiments and auditionsfor his plays. He drank on the weekends and was happy when he drank, not angry. He was everyone’sbuddy, the charmer, ol’ Schmooze Boy. He made no one in his presence feel less than or invisible. And Danny was god-awful funny when he was drunk. Not stupid-funny, like crushing beer cans against hisforehead, but witty, a storyteller. He made up stories on the spot, usually about his father, making him outto be a buffoon. And every time one of those stories ended with his audience erupting in laughter, he’dthink
 
Take that, you fucker.

When he drank until he passed out and awoke the next morning (or afternoon) hung over, he nursedhimself not  for the purpose of getting well as much as to ready himself for the next weekend. By the timehe finished college, he could no longer wait for the weekend.

Danny’s only power over Artie Gold came at the hands of his writing and his drinking. Everyantagonist he created, be he politician or prosecutor, in the end fell from glory, crushed not by physicalviolence but by words, either sweeping oratory or verbal assaults. Danny gave each protagonist the voicehe never had, the one his father had always managed to take from him and his mother had neverencouraged him to use. A guidance counselor in the eighth grade—one of the nice ones and not the idiots