Ladies and Gentlemen (6 page)

Then he took the money down from the book on his shelf and counted it out. He had just over $1200 left, having spent less than ninety dollars this past week. He left two twenties in his wallet and replaced the rest. He got his coffee ready for the morning and set three alarms: his digital watch, his clock radio by the bed, and another in the kitchen just in case. He picked out his tie and spit-shined his shoes and hung the outfit on the door, imagining himself in it. Looking into the mirror he said, “So good to see you again, Doctor. Ms. Samuel, you look wonderful as always.” He thought this struck the right note—someone who’d be a pleasure to work with. “I’m sorry?” he asked. “You were saying?”

The next morning, while he was shaving, Zach knocked on the door. Applelow greeted him with his face still lathered, wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist.

The boy had his down coat on and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m catching a bus in a few minutes.”

“Come in,” Appelow said. “I’ll be out in a second.”

Zach sat down on the couch while he went back to the bathroom and, embarrassed by his flabbiness, closed the door.

“You got the suit out,” Zach called. “Big interview?”

“The biggest,” he answered. The clock radio was blaring away, and on the
Today
show Couric was interviewing a pair of amputee soldiers from Iraq, thanking them for their service and their sacrifice—and it occurred to him that this could become part of his morning ritual: the world’s information streamed from dual sources, a quick check on the markets, the weather, the terrorist alerts. He would pick up the
Times
and the
Wall Street Journal
at the newsstand on the corner. What he didn’t finish reading in the morning he would save for later in the evening.

“I came by to thank you,” Zach said when Applelow emerged from the steaming room.

“You thanked me yesterday,” Applelow told him, walking into the bedroom and closing the door so he could dress in front of the mirror hanging on the other side of it.

“I wanted to thank you for setting me straight,” Zach called. “Seriously. I had a long talk with my mom.”

Applelow had changed his mind about his shirt, and went for the blue one in his closet.

“She said you were right. I shouldn’t just go and throw myself on the world like I was thinking.”

“Good for you,” Applelow barked at the door, wiping his hand over his forehead, still sweaty from the shower. It was warmer today, spring in the air, and he opened his window, letting the icy breeze cool him down before he put on the shirt.

“So I’m back to the military thing,” Zach continued. “But
after
I finish college, so that I can do officer training. I’m going to commit to it, get something solid under my feet. See what it leads to.”

“Outstanding,” Applelow called. It was a joy to put on these clothes, he thought, his shirt starched enough to feel like chain mail, protective but soft. He got his tie right the first time, the knot snug and Windsor-fat and serious, the tip hanging to the middle of his belt like his father had taught him to do when he was a boy. He sat on the bed and pulled on his socks and shoes—the jacket could wait till last—and went into the living room. Zach was standing there, bag in hand.

“Good man,” Applelow said. His sense of having helped the boy furthered his confidence about the interview. Blackness could negate blueness if you weren’t careful, he thought, and by giving unconditionally to someone in need he’d also imparted his own best aspects to him: an ability to flow with things, instead of darting from place to place … and then he pressed his finger to his pursed lips and shook his head, suddenly understanding the point of Love’s assignment so completely that he looked at Zach and laughed.

“So I’m gonna go now,” the boy said. He seemed to want to say something more, then changed his mind. “So, seriously. Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

Zach started to back out of the room, then turned and opened
the closet. “Wrong door,” he said, laughing awkwardly as he hurried out and pounded down the stairs. Even over the radio and TV, Applelow could hear the front door slam shut.

He stared at the door for a moment, thinking about the next time he and Zach might see each other, and how much could have changed for the both of them by then. He imagined Zach in a military uniform, himself in a better suit. Then he went into his bedroom, put on his coat, stood in front of the mirror, and ran a palm over his lapels.

“Smile,” he said.

When he arrived, a man and woman were seated in the waiting room having a conversation. Though the tone was cool between them, he marveled at how good-looking they both were, how young and confident. The man was tall and blond, with such fine, chiseled features that he could have been a soap-opera actor. He wore a yellow paisley tie and a dark-blue suit, and sat forward with his elbows on his knees, listening to the woman talk. Her hair in a tight bun, she wore a perfect gray suit and black, thick-rimmed glasses, and if she took them off and shook her hair out, he thought, she would be straight out of a dream.

He went up to Madeline’s desk and said, “I have a ten o’clock appointment.”

“If you have a seat, Mr. Applelow, she’ll see you in a moment.”

He gestured at the two people behind him and pointed to his watch. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Those two have already been interviewed.”

He took a chair two down from the man, who looked over at him, nodded, and stood up. “Jeff Godfrey,” he said, holding his hand out and shaking Applelow’s firmly. His voice was deep.

The woman stood to greet him as well. “Elizabeth Myerson,” she said.

They all sat quietly for a moment.

“Where was I?” she said to Godfrey.

“B-school.”

“Right. You went to …”

“Wharton. You?”

“Kellogg.”

Godfrey smiled. “I went to college at Northwestern.”

“Really? What year did you graduate?”

“Ninety-nine,” he said.

“Did you know Jason Meeks?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you
love
Michigan?” she said.

Godfrey didn’t respond to this, and Applelow, put off by his attitude, said, “It’s a lovely state.”

“Anyway,” Myerson continued, “B-school was just so, well, unlike what I expected, you know? Maybe I was thinking an MBA would be more intellectually demanding, or I’d come out with a group of specific skill sets and so forth, but mostly it felt like a two-year corporate retreat with a whole lot of theory slash economics mixed in.”

“Wharton wasn’t like that at all,” Godfrey said. “When I came out of there, I felt I could move into any area of management.” Then he began talking in market terminology about Auratec’s
staffing needs and current revenue stream, how their expansion to the East Coast reflected their success in Los Angeles, Portland, and Arizona, shifting in his seat so as to include Applelow in the conversation.

But Applelow said nothing. Let them strut their credentials, he thought, because that wouldn’t help. He was going to explain the outcome of his assignment to Love and Samuel by telling them how he’d helped change Zach’s life. Communicating this was the key, he realized; it would distinguish him from these two business-school robots. He could almost see Love’s beaming expression when he recounted what had happened, and his instinctive sense of the rightness of this approach almost made him want to stand up and shout.

“Mr. Applelow?” Madeline said. “Ms. Samuel will see you now.”

When he stood up, the man and woman wished him good luck.

“You too,” he said, then strode through the door.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw inside. But for two large black pedestals in each corner, on top of which sat large gold Buddha statues, all of the furniture had been removed from the office. The lights had been turned down, the shades were drawn, and Samuel and Love were sitting on the floor, their legs crossed, their hands resting on their knees, their middle fingers touched to thumbs in an Oriental A-OK, both wearing white jumpsuits with high shoulder pads that made them look like
Star Trek
conventioneers. Their expressions were beatific. Sitar chords played softly in the background. At the center of their half circle and lit from above by a lone track light was an enormous gold ankh.

“David,” Love said. “it’s so good to see you. Please, take off your shoes and join us.”

Applelow, nearly undone by the scene, sat down on the floor and untied his shoes—an act, he realized, that invariably made you look unprofessional. He slid over to complete their circle and crossed his legs. “Like this?” he said.

“Perfect,” Ms. Samuel said.

“David,” Love said, his eyes widening, “you look radiant.” He stretched out his hands and felt around, as if an invisible air bubble had surrounded Applelow. “Are you noticing this, Ms. Samuel?”

“I am.”

“Your aura is exceptionally bright and in balance.”

“Thank you,” Applelow said.

“I sense, David, that you addressed some of the issues we spoke of during our last meeting.”

“Oh, I did, Dr. Love,” he said, floored once again by the man’s empathetic powers, “and it was so successful that—”

“Wonderful,” Love said, holding up a hand. “Outstanding. I’m anxious to hear about your progress. I won’t lie to you, David. Hearing about people’s spiritual development makes my job worthwhile. It’s the ultimate perk, if you will. But we should get started immediately. Our two other candidates are waiting on your results. Are you ready?”

“I am,” Applelow said, not sure he liked being hurried like this. He turned to look at Ms. Samuel for a sign, but she’d closed her eyes and seemed to be meditating.

“This will be a final test of your latent ability,” Love said. “I’m going to be straight up, David. I won’t beat around the bush. Get
all
the answers to our questions right, and the job is yours. It’s that simple, and that difficult. Understand?”

“I do.”

“Good. Now. Do you know what this symbol is that lies between us?”

“It’s an ankh, isn’t it?” Applelow said.

“Correct,” Love said. “Outstanding. An Egyptian ankh. But do you know what it
symbolizes
?”

Applelow put a fist to his mouth. Of all the obvious things! “I don’t,” he admitted.

Ms. Samuel suddenly opened her eyes. “David,” she said, “I’d have expected you to do
some
research about our company.”

“That’s all right,” Love said, patting her knee lightly and then turning back to Applelow. “You don’t have to be an Egyptologist to get a job with Auratec. Now,” he continued, “the ankh represents eternal life—the force that flows through us and endures after we have passed, and that is imprinted in each one of us as uniquely as a fingerprint. Do you believe in eternal life, David?”

Applelow, fearing he’d done irreparable damage to his chances but sensing that honesty was imperative, spoke truthfully. “I do.”

Ms. Samuel smiled.

“Wonderful,” Love said. “Outstanding. You would have been eliminated from consideration if you didn’t. Because we believe that all spiritual energy flows from the ankh. And it is to this energy alone that we train our employees to attune themselves.”

“I see.”

“I knew you would. We’re now going to test your ability to read these different manifestations of the life force. To interpret, in
sequence, a series of auras. Listen carefully. With the power of our minds, Ms. Samuel and I will telepathically project a color directly to your brain. You will tell us what color it is—just say it aloud the moment it comes to you—and then describe, in one word, what state of being that color represents. Do you understand?”

Applelow took a deep breath. “I think so.”

“Outstanding,” Love said. “Please, clear your mind.”

“It’s clear,” Applelow said.

“Are you ready, Ms. Samuel?”

“I am, Doctor.”

“Close your eyes, David, and we’ll begin.”

Over the sitar chords, he heard them both say, “Aaooommmmmm.”

“Should I go now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Love said.

As he concentrated, he felt a gentle heat at his temples, as if they’d been dabbed with Tiger Balm, and there came to him an image of his father walking with one of his building’s tenants out the front door onto the strips of grass that ran along the walk-way—a brilliant green in the bright sunlight—and then his father, as he did on the occasion of every new lease, put his arm around the renter and offered his help. “Anything you need,” he’d say quietly, “anything at all, you only have to call me; it doesn’t matter what time, just let me know.” The memory was so vivid that he almost gasped.

“Green?” he ventured.

“Yes!” they both exclaimed.

“And what does green signify?” Love asked.

“Concern,” he answered.

“Correct!” they said. “Aaooommmmmm.”

“What do you see now, David?”

An image of Marnie’s purple robe came brightly to mind, and Applelow felt his face flush. “Purple?” he said.

“Correct!” Love said.

“And what does that aura represent?” Ms. Samuel asked.

“Love,” Applelow told her.

“You’re right, David,” she said breathlessly. “Excellent.”

They both said, “Aaooommmmmm.”

“And now?” Love said.

Applelow now saw Marnie’s hair, an image from the other night when she stood at her door in her robe. “Red,” he said.

“Remarkable!” Love said. “Representing?”

“Agitation,” Applelow said.

“I won’t lie to you, David. You’ve tied the number of correct answers of our third-best candidate. Continue.”

“Aaooommmmmm.”

In his mind, Applelow thought of bad nights when he lay awake in a darkness so complete that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and how he imagined hell might be just that: a lightless, morningless place and time that lasted forever, in which you were always alone. “Black,” he said.

“Yes!” Love told him.

“Meaning hopelessness.”

“Outstanding! Just one more to go, David. So focus! Pinch your concentration!”

Applelow felt his fingers trembling. “I’m ready.”

“Aaooommmmmm.”

And now he saw Zach standing at his door this morning, excited but also relieved and focused and ready. “Blue,” he stated.