Again (16 page)

D
avid sat at his desk looking at the signatures on the Declaration of Dissolution of Partnership. The black ink glared, each stroke a mark against him. Yeah, he’d expected Clarence to walk. That wasn’t a big surprise, as he had given his notice a couple of weeks ago. This just made it official. What threw him was Rick’s signature on the line beneath Clarence’s. Not that he hadn’t anticipated that Rick might make that move sooner or later, but anticipation is one thing, reality another. Rick hadn’t even bothered to notify him beforehand. He felt as though someone had lobbed into his guts at full speed. Rick had weighed friendships, both his and Clarence’s, and had decided that Clarence’s was worth more.

David started to crumple the paper, then stopped. It was a formal document that would have to be filed away for record. Just as he would file away his severed partnerships, and, in Rick’s case, a friendship. He laid the document on the desk and as his hands smoothed over the crinkled paper, his mind tried to fathom how everything had unraveled so quickly. Especially with Rick.

He and Rick went back nearly seven years. They had met as competitors bidding on a municipal water project for their respective firms, and in the end, Rick’s firm got the project. Still, David admired Rick’s savvy, a combination of salesman glitz and statesman tact which he used to good stead when dealing with the city politicos. Rick once said, “It’s not who you know, but who you don’t. When you figure that out, that’s where you focus.” And Rick had gone through otherwise closed doors, garnering favors and later, contracts.

Rick once told David that it was David’s obvious talent and innate ability to assess a client’s unspoken—and sometimes unknown—need that made him think they should combine forces. They had started out as two, and then had brought Clarence on board shortly after. Even then, David had been wary. In too many circles, Clarence Debbs was labeled a recalcitrant self-aggrandizer, but Rick had assured David that those were sour grapes. David knew that racism pegged a lot of black architects as hard to work with or incompetent. And Clarence had proved his competency and superiority fast enough.

But like the saying, “where’s there’s smoke…” within a year or two, certain things began to confirm that the wagging tongues knew what they were talking about. Clarence slowly began to show another side to his professionalism. Like his bulldogging for projects that he was always too reticent about, jealously guarding important details from him and Rick. Then there was his making unilateral decisions that contradicted prior agreements between the partners. David had put up with it because of Rick’s incessant excuses. But the main reason was always that Clarence could take away their clients.

“Clarence knows a lot of people. We need that network, man, because if Clar decides to walk, you can bet we lose half our client base and goodwill,” Rick had said on more than one occasion.

The thought made his fingers form a half fist. Well, Clar was walking, and Rick was walking right along with him. Fine. Damn it, it was going to have to be fine, because he was on his fucking own right now.

He would have to make calls to their clients, let them know where things stood and gauge which ones might stay with him. He sighed. Most of these clients had been brought in by either Rick or Clar. In the end, most likely they would go with them, no matter how much damage control David tried to do.

He felt the nerve drumming in his temple above his right eye. It did that whenever he was stressed. He needed to get out of here. The office, big as it was, was too confining right now.

Even as he grabbed his suit jacket from the coat stand, he knew where he was heading. Debbie told him earlier that Rick had called to say he wouldn’t be in. David had a good idea where his turncoat partner was sitting right now, even this early.

He left instructions with Debbie to tell anyone calling that he would be out for most of the morning, then headed for the elevator that led down to the underground garage. Within minutes, he was in his car headed up Michigan Avenue. Even at just past ten, the shoppers were out in full force. July was a heavy tourist month with lots of pedestrian traffic on North Michigan because of the upscale stores. He continued north on Lake Shore Drive, until he got to Fullerton and then turned right onto north Lincoln. Soon, he was at his destination. It took less than ten minutes. He lucked out as a car pulled out of a parking space just as he pulled up.

He got out, spotted Rick’s red Jaguar parked a couple of cars down. The meter flag was down, signaling he would be in there for a while.

Over the doors hung the familiar white sign emblazoned with a red lion crest. The Red Lion was a gambling hall in the 1930s, but its main claim to fame was that it sat across from the Biograph Theater where John Dillinger was gunned down. Just inside the worn wooden doors was a diligent recreation of an English pub, right down to the cozy fireplace and wooden tables along the wall. On the television the black-and-white image of Peter Sellers played on the screen. David recognized the movie—one of his least favorites,
Dr. Strangelove.

This was Rick’s main haunt, the place he came to unwind. David had never figured out why. The crowd here was more into discussions of literature and politics; Rick was more into sports and women. Still, the place had a little something for everybody. David sometimes came for their Red Light nights where aspiring writers read erotic prose.

The sun filtered starkly through the windows, illuminating everything in a whitish-yellow tinge. He spotted Rick sitting by himself at one of the tables farthest from the bar. He was nursing a mug of beer, his face half turned to the wall. He was wearing his Yale University T-shirt and jeans. He must have sensed something, because he looked up just as David walked up to the table. The man flinched.

David stood looking down at his friend—soon to be former—with whom he had shared many intimate conversations. To whom he had told a lot of secrets. But right now he was looking at a stranger. Maybe he had never known the man at all. He saw the fear in Rick’s eyes.

“What’s the matter, Rick? Not glad to see me?” David slid into the opposite chair.

“Should’ve known you’d come looking for me.” Rick took a sip of beer. “And you don’t need to tell me what I did was fucked up. I know it, man, I know it.” He sounded defeated by his conscience.

“Then why?” David asked as a waitress started to walk up to him. He shook his head, and she stopped midstride and turned to go back to the bar. “This has to be the lowest stunt you’ve ever pulled, and believe me, I’ve been around to see a lot of the shit you’ve done. So, no honor among partners anymore? The least you could’ve done was let me know before the final papers came. I deserved that much respect. Even Clarence gave me that bit of nothing.”

Rick shut his eyes, opened them. “It’s not about you, man. It’s simply business. When I realized Clarence was going to take nearly everybody, including the clients I brought in…man, he’s been working us from day one. So what was I supposed to do? Especially when Clarence offered me a copartnership in the firm he’s starting up. If it wasn’t for the bills…Man, I just bought Melinda an engagement ring the other week. Three carats. It put me back almost five thou. I’m sorry, Dave, but I have a future to plan for, and I’ve got to go where my money’s going.”

David’s pulse was racing, and he fought to control his voice. When he spoke, he sounded almost neutral. “And you didn’t have faith in the two of us to keep it going…like we did before Clarence even signed on. Let’s face it, I’m the talent behind the business. You and Clarence barely have the vision to put a couple of Lego buildings together.”

Rick had been avoiding eye contact, but now he looked at David, his initial remorse no longer visible. “You’re full of it, David. You know that? You try to make it seem that the only problem is Clar, but in these past weeks, hell, months even, things have been going on with you, and you haven’t even bothered to be straight with me. I don’t know if you’ve got some emotional shit you’re dealing with…but you’ve been more than distracted lately. I tried to bring it up, but you never wanted to talk about it. Yeah, you’ve got the talent, but you’ve lost the drive, and I don’t know when it left you, but, man, from what I’m looking at, it’s gone. Ask yourself, do you even want to be in your own business? And be honest with yourself, if not with me.”

The veins were popping in David’s head. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past three years? Playing? Of course, I want to be in business!” his voice rose a decibel level, causing two men sitting at the bar to look over their shoulders at them. “You talk about your bills. What do you think your little stunt’s going to do to me? It’s going to pull me under. Did you even think about that?”

Rick slowly shook his head. “Maybe not. Look, I’m sorry, and I know that’s not worth much of anything right now. Maybe I can talk to Clar…”

“Don’t bother.” He stood abruptly, causing the chair to scrape against the old, wooden floor. “Just let me know what I’ve got to do to bring this farce to an end. You know where to reach me. I’ll be in
my
office. I expect you and Clarence to clear your shit out of my space by the end of the week. I’m going to be headhunting for some newer heads. Hopefully, these’ll be attached to bodies with souls in them.”

He left Rick sitting there, his glass mug half full, his eyes mournful. The sun was warm and welcoming. It didn’t do him one damn bit of good. It might as well have been raining.

Back in the car, David didn’t know where to go. He didn’t feel like going back to the office. The same office he would probably have to move out of in a matter of months if he couldn’t find someone else to help with the expenses. He definitely didn’t feel like going home.

In the past, whenever he was this unfocused, he would get on the phone to Sherry. But now he was thinking of someone else. He reached for his cell phone, stopped. She would wonder why he hadn’t called her back. And what could he tell her?
“I had this dream of you dead, with me standing over you, and when I woke up, I had blood on my hand.”
Most likely she would think he was nuts.

But he needed to see her. Had to. He started his car, and turned into the traffic heading back south.

Tyne sat looking at the proofs Carole, the production manager, had left on her desk. The article read very well, and the photo of Regina Stewart and her children juxtaposed against the picture of the dumping ground was visually effective. She was about to buzz Carole when a movement in her doorway made her look up. She expected to see Carole or maybe Sherry. But it was neither.

“Hey…I mean how…?” she stuttered, taken by surprise at the pleasure of seeing him, then angry at herself for that pleasure. But he stood there looking so good, and she wanted so much to be wrapped in those arms “So, what makes you drop in? Looking for a booty call?”

She saw the wince. He stepped all the way in. It might have been her imagination, but he seemed taller and older. Definitely troubled.

“I deserve that, I do,” he said wearily.

“So, why’re you here? I haven’t forgotten a date we made, have I? Oh, no, that’s right. ’cause how could there be a date when there hasn’t been any more calls or contact, period. Look, I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but I was certainly expecting some respect.”

“And you have it,” he conceded, then walked over to take one of the seats facing her desk. “My not calling hasn’t anything to do with you. I’ve been going through some shi…stuff, and it’s been…I mean, I’ve been…”

“Busy?” she filled in.

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Well, I’m busy now, so thanks for dropping by, but I’ve got to get back to work.” She picked up the proofs again, went through the motions of reading, her eyes unseeing, her pulse racing. But he still sat there, refusing to take the cue.

She looked up, found him staring at her, his green eyes unreadable. No, not exactly unreadable. She let herself forget her anger, even her desire. She let herself see him, and saw just the edges of his pain. She saw it in those eyes, in the stiff jawline, as though he had to clench his jaws to hold something back. No, this wasn’t about her.

She sighed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

His eyes flickered, and he sat back, his body wilting slightly.

“There’s been some problems with my business.”

“Like what?”

And he told her. Quietly. Not a placid calm, or a defeated peace. But a slow simmering stillness before the hurricane. She saw the way he flexed his fingers, how they settled into a fist, relaxed, only to flex again. She understood the anger. Betrayal was soul-cutting, heart-searing, especially from a friend. She already hated the unseen, unknown Rick. With the thought, she analyzed that she felt deeply enough to resent those who hurt him, as though it were her obligation to keep harm away from him. But that was the duty of a lover in love. What was she, exactly? They had slept together only once. When she had awakened next to him following hours of vigorous lovemaking, she had spied on the stranger as he slept and wondered how long it would take to get to know him.

She didn’t know what to say, so she asked, “Are you a good architect?”

“You’ve seen an example of my work. What do you think?”

There was a spark in that question, and she smiled. “I think you are very talented, but then again, you know that. I also think you’re going to survive this setback. In another few years, you won’t even remember the asses you worked with. And I really think you’re underestimating your salesmanship. After all, you sold me on you, and trust me, I’m not an easy sell.”

He laughed. She liked the sound of it and the crinkling around his eyes. But then the laughter petered out. The way he stared at her now was too intense.

“I wanted to see you. I let things keep me away. It won’t happen again.”

“Whoa,” she laughed nervously. “You don’t need to pledge your troth.” She couldn’t explain her desire to back away, physically, emotionally. Suddenly, it was like the space around her had contracted, and was slowly closing in around her. The feeling was inexplicable.