Page 23

23

Because I couldn’t figure out a way out of it, tonight I’m having drinks with Malcolm at Cooper’s.

It’s been several days since I exploded the rotten fruit and maggots onto Whitney’s bed. I’m embarrassed to admit I made sure the door to our bedroom was locked that night when I went to sleep. It seemed like there was a chance Whitney might sneak into our room and slit my throat while I was sleeping. Or throw the maggots into our bed, which would be almost as bad.

But strangely enough, Whitney made no move to kill me in my sleep. She didn’t mention the episode at all, in fact. When I passed her in the hallway on my way to the bathroom, it was like it never happened, which I found incredibly strange. I’m on edge though. I don’t know if she’s planning anything.

I arrive at Cooper’s ten minutes late. It’s a small, dark dive bar with chunky wooden chairs and tables that are almost always sticky, even after being wiped down. Even though smoking isn’t allowed in bars anymore in the city, the place smells like an ashtray. I suspect it’s from the patrons and staff who slip out to smoke and then come back inside seconds after stubbing out their cigarettes on the ground. The floor is smudged with ash. Gwen, my last girlfriend before Krista, was a smoker, and the smell reminds me of her in an unsettling way. That relationship only lasted a few months, and it did not end well.

Malcolm isn’t at the bar when I arrive, and I almost walk out. He’s the one who bulldozed me into this meeting, and now he’s even later than me? But Krista was so excited at the prospect of me and Becky’s husband becoming friends—she’ll be pissed if I return home without a report of how well the evening went. Given our recent fights, I need to be extra careful not to screw things up with her.

I find a table for two and sit down by myself. There are two girls in their midtwenties sitting at the bar, having what looks like a girls’ night out, except their skirts are really short. I try not to look, but one of them catches my eye and flashes a suggestive smile. I quickly avert my eyes. Where the hell is Malcolm? I’m giving him five more minutes, then I’m gone.

Four minutes later, Malcolm bustles into Cooper’s, a suit and tie on his broad frame, which almost makes me wish I’d kept my own work clothes on instead of changing into a more casual blue jeans and NYU T-shirt. He’s got that familiar air of being both exhausted and wired. That’s how I used to feel after a long day at Coble & Roy.

“Blake, my man!” he calls out.

As he approaches the table, he holds up his hand, and I start to fist-bump him, but it turns out he’s looking for a high five, so I awkwardly convert my fist bump into a high five at the last second. I can’t wait to get this over with.

Malcolm’s chair scrapes against the floor as he pulls it out. “Did you order yet?”

I didn’t. I’d been hoping I might get to leave. “Not yet.”

Malcolm summons our waitress with a flick of his wrist. I order a Heineken, and he gets a scotch on the rocks, which I recall with a twinge of bitterness was Wayne’s favorite drink.

“So how’s the new job?” he asks me.

“Great.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Good good good good good.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And…uh…” I clear my throat. “How are things at Coble & Roy?”

Maybe someday I’ll be able to say it without choking on the words, but that day has not yet arrived.

He shrugs. “Oh, the usual. You know.”

I want to ask him if Wayne ever talks about me, but I’m not sure if I want to know the answer to that question. Instead, I ask another question I don’t want to know the answer to: “Who did they pick as the new VP? Was it Chad?”

“Chad Pickering?” Malcolm snorts. “Actually, it almost was. But then they caught him doing lines in the men’s room.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa. Are you serious?”

“I sure am.”

I’m surprised but also not that surprised. Chad worked longer hours than anyone else at the company and never seemed tired—it was almost inhuman. But I’ve known guys who used coke, and I didn’t get that vibe from him. He had a wife and kid, and he seemed pretty straitlaced. I guess you never know what the pressures of the job will do to you.

“So who ended up with the job then?” I ask.

“Actually,” Malcolm says, “it’s me.”

“ What? ”

I say it so loudly that a guy two tables over wearing a hat with a penguin on it turns to gawk at me. The moment is saved when we are interrupted by the reappearance of the waitress, who lays our drinks on the table in front of us. I’m too stunned to even manage to say thanks. Malcolm is the new VP of marketing at Coble & Roy? He was barely even competent. Six months ago, he couldn’t have even told you what search engine optimization was. What the hell?

I take a gulp of beer, trying to restrain myself from saying something I’ll regret. “That’s a…strange choice,” I finally manage. I sound like a dick, but I don’t even care. This is all kinds of wrong.

“I’ve been working really hard,” he says defensively. “Wayne says I’m his right-hand man.”

“ Wayne said that?”

“Yes.” His face turns pink. “Hey, at least I don’t take drugs or steal from the company.”

Now I feel my own face start to burn. “I didn’t steal from the company. I’d never do that. That was bullshit, and you know it.”

“Was it?” He arches an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy at Coble & Roy. Plenty of people had a lot of shit to say about you. I spent half my time defending you. Before he got busted, even Chad told me you stole his ideas and passed them off as your own.”

I snatch the bottle of beer off the table and drain the rest of it in two large gulps. I slam it back down on the table and rise from my seat. “I’m leaving.”

Malcolm’s expression softens, as it often does when someone snaps at him. He’s way too much of a wuss for this job—he’ll get eaten alive in five seconds, and Wayne will be sorry he ever let me go. “Hey. Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.” I pull my wallet out of my pocket and toss a couple of bills on the table to cover my drink. “We’re done here.”

He scrambles to his feet, stepping in front of me. “But Becky and Krista wanted us to do this,” he protests, confirming my suspicions.

“So we did it,” I say. “I’ll take a walk before I go home. You can tell Becky how great it went. How we’re now best friends.” I shrug. “Tell her whatever the hell you want, but I’m not sitting here another second.”

I push past Malcolm, and I don’t stop until I’m out of the bar. After his half-hearted attempt to stop me, Malcolm has apparently decided to stay to finish his drink. I still can’t wrap my head around what he said to me. How could Malcolm have gotten my old job? He’s grossly unqualified. He must have brainwashed Wayne.

Just before I walk away, I peer through the partially fogged window of the bar to make sure Malcolm hasn’t decided to follow me. Or worse—tell Becky about how I stormed out, who will then rat me out to Krista. But he’s not following me or talking to Becky on the phone. He’s decided to join those two girls who smiled at me when I walked in. Well, I hope that asshole has a good time.