Empty Nests Page 2

  “Hey!” he barked. “Everyone look at me for sixty seconds. Dave!” He raised his voice. “Music off!”

  Dave pulled out his earbuds.

  James lifted an e-mail printout, crumpled from where he had been gripping it too hard, and tried to focus on remaining calm. “There have been complaints coming down from up high and landing on my desk recently. Apparently this team has an attitude problem.” There was much groaning and rolling of eyes. “And there it is. I fully understand that the faculty and staff we service are occasionally morons, despite having alphabet soup after their names. And I know many of the students are intellectual snobs and spoiled brats. However, the faculty and staff have the power to make our lives difficult, and student tuition is what pays our salaries.”

  There was a fresh collection of groaning and eye rolling.

  “Enough!” James snapped, crumpling the paper again. “I let all of you get away with a shitload in here. I let you sneak off-shift early when you have to be somewhere. I turn a blind eye to longer-than-standard lunch breaks. I let you burn university bandwidth on YouTube because I do it too. Hell, I haven’t even fired Dave yet.”

  “Why would I be fired?” Dave asked through a mouthful of something sticky.

  James ignored him. “But out there, you need to start behaving a little better. I’m not saying you have to kiss ass or lick boots. I’m not even talking about service with a smile, but at the end of the day, they are the Upstairs and we are the Downstairs, so let’s cut back on the raw sarcasm. Can everyone do that for me? Please?”

  Everyone nodded and mumbled assurances, though no one looked pleased.

  “Thank you.” James dropped the printout in the nearby recycling. “Now get on to whatever you were doing while pretending to work.”

  Gabe’s only desire was to go home and sleep in his own bed for at least twelve hours. Instead he was at his desk, still feeling the aftereffects of the sake. There was a quick knock at his office door, and Frank popped his head in, his mass of red hair leading by almost a second.

  “Hey, there. Feeling better?”

  “Not really.”

  Frank’s face split into the large grin Gabe had long ago learned to fear. “Well, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.”

  “Why do I doubt that?”

  Frank dropped a glossy local industry magazine on the desk. There was a publicity still of Gabe on the front, but it was the five words under it that terrified him. Silicon Valley’s Most Eligible Bachelors.

  His gut dropped. “No.”

  Frank yanked it away before Gabe could throw it across the room. “And guess who’s number one this year.”

  The whine that came from Gabe’s throat made him sound like an overtired toddler. He sincerely wished he could throw a tantrum, then take a nap.

  Frank flipped open the magazine, the giant grin not leaving his face. “Gabriel Juarez. CFO. Makes shitloads of money. Oh look, they lied about your age. Took off a good five years. Too bad they couldn’t take it off your face!”

  Gabe grabbed for Frank, but he danced out of the way. “You love the outdoors. You cook. You can cook?”

  “I can fry an egg,” he snapped.

  “And you’re looking for someone special.”

  Gabe put his hands together as if in prayer and squeezed his eyes shut. “Tell me. Please, Frank, please for the love of God, is the word ‘gay’ anywhere in there? Or queer? Or ‘is really not interested in boobs, so please don’t send pictures of yourself in a low-cut dress with your résumé’?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Gabe slumped back in his chair. It was bad enough he had made the list the last five years; being at the top just made him feel pathetic. The fact that he would now have to spend a month fighting off half the eligible women in the industry was not improving his overall mood.

  “I have got to get off that list.”

  “Speaking of getting off—”

  “No,” Gabe said instantly.

  “You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say.”

  “Answer is still no.” He’d learned the hard way, when it came to Frank, it was best to start with no, then listen to what he had to say.

  “My second ex-wife’s second cousin. Nice guy. Good-looking. Young but not too young.”

  “Remember what happened the last time you set me up with someone?”

  “That was a freak accident.”

  “So they keep saying.”

  “Come on. You need to get out of your condo. Celebrate a little.”

  “Do you know how much work I have?” He grabbed a random folder and flipped it open, hoping Frank would get the point and leave him alone.

  “Do you know how large a team you have? Delegate a little. Relax.”

  “I am fine.”

  Frank placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned in. His breath smelled like ham and cheese Hot Pockets. “You are one of my oldest friends, and I’m saying this as a friend. I worry about you dying alone in the Old Executives’ Home. Everyone needs someone, and since you are incapable of finding a nice guy, I will find one for you.”

  Gabe wondered how Frank’s third marriage was going, because he only seemed to get interested in Gabe’s love life when his own was falling apart. And Gabe really wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Not with the evil sake still rotting in his bloodstream.

  “I am perfectly capable of finding a nice guy.”

  “I mean a real nice guy. Not your idea of a nice guy, which is easy, pretty, and possessing the personality depth of a damp washcloth. Or, you know, a complete asshole.”

  A jolt of anxiety and anger shot threw Gabe. His heart began to race, and the edges of the folder crumpled under his grip. Frank usually had better taste than to bring up that particular ex or any part of that entire situation for any reason.

  “And what do you suggest I look for?” Gabe all but snarled.

  “Someone who’s not an asshole, for one. Someone who might look at you instead of your bank account. Someone who is independently functional and willing to call you on your shit. Someone you might consider taking a day off for. Sane, balanced, responsible, nice to you, not an asshole. I think I mentioned that last one.”

  “And your second ex-wife’s second cousin meets all these qualifications?”

  “Hell no. But he’s pretty, will certainly put out, and until we get you someone nice, we should at least get you laid. Puts you in a way better mood.”

  There was a point in nearly every conversation with Frank where Gabe had simply had enough and threw him out. This was it.

  “Out.” He pointed at his door.

  “Just think about it.”

  “Now.”

  Keys rattled in the apartment door as James pulled the tuna casserole out of the oven.

  “I’m home,” Dylan called out.

  He heard the thump of baseball gear and schoolbooks hit the floor by the door. “How was practice?” he asked as soon as Dylan got into the kitchen.

  “Fine.” Dylan reached over James’ shoulder and tried to pull a bit of the crusty edge off the casserole dish, burning his fingers a little. James had long ago accepted the fact that his son would tower over him. And he would revel in the classic blond-and-blue looks inherited from his mother. At least the towering strength would put him through college.

  “How was work?”

  “Mostly had to sit through a special business lecture because the projector keeps locking up laptops.”

  “Interesting lecture?” Dylan set a couple of old plastic plates on the two-person table that took up nearly half the kitchen.

  “Wasn’t really paying attention.” He’d spent most of the lecture on his phone, trying to beat his personal best in Nibbles.

  He stabbed a large serving spoon into the casserole and moved it to the table. Dylan inhaled about half of it without much more conversation. As much as James was worrying himself sick over sending his son off to university come September, it would do wonders for the grocery bill. br />
  “So,” Dylan started as he scraped the last of the noodles from his plate. “Remember that conversation we were having about the new AP English teacher?”

  “If you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket right now, I will never forgive you.”

  Dylan grinned and pulled a tightly folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Saturday after next, if you want, you have a date.”

  James was pretty sure teenagers were not supposed to be as hung up on their father’s love life as Dylan was. “No. No, I do not.”

  Dylan pushed over a printout from his school’s faculty webpage. There was a phone number handwritten at the bottom. “Thirty-five, no kids. He likes music.” Dylan had highlighted that line. “You like music, he likes music. When I talked to him, he said he’d love to take you to see a band he likes.”

  “Goddammit, Dylan! I do not need you setting me up with strangers.”

  “He’s not a stranger, he’s the school’s AP English teacher, and I wouldn’t have to if you’d get out of the house once in a while. Seriously, Dad, I’m out of here in less than a year. I don’t want you moping around this place alone. You do that enough as is, and I worry about you turning into a crazy old cat lady.”

  James gathered the dishes and dropped them in the sink with a little more force than necessary. Luckily they were the plastic ones he’d had since Dylan was ten. “Maybe you should head to your room right now.”

  “Sure, I have homework.”

  “You better believe you do.”

  “Just consider it. Please. For me?”

  “Go to your room. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Dylan slunk away from the kitchen, and James tried to relax. Dylan had been trying to set him up with various men since he was seven. He’d never appreciated that his father might have other priorities, like trying to keep food on the table, a roof over their heads, and saving enough to get Dylan through school in case his scholarships fell through.

  James picked up the printout. The guy did have a nice enough smile, and in his profile, he emphasized a love of music. The occasional small concert was his one, tiny, very rare indulgence once he’d started making enough to risk having indulgences.

  There was a number penciled at the bottom with a note to call any time after seven. James checked the kitchen clock with its bent second hand that stuttered every five seconds. It was 7:14. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt. He certainly didn’t need to see anyone, but a concert might be nice, and it would get Dylan off his back for at least a few weeks. He picked up the phone and made the call.

  2

  Gabe stared at the folder that contained all the information for the Buduŝie tehnologii deal. There was a very large file he was pretty sure he hadn’t put there. It was labeled “BT2ndPhaseProposalDraftFINALforReview.” He clicked on it and started to read.

  It covered everything: staggered payouts, employee compensation, real estate transfers, international patents, unsold product, and the all-important mineral rights. It was the proposal he had come in early to finalize, except it was sitting in front of him already written. He checked the date. It seemed to be right. He hadn’t lost time or something. He tried to recall any point in the last month when he might have had time to sit down, go through the notes and drafts from the lawyers and negotiators, and finish a major proposal. He couldn’t think of any, which only intensified the fear that he was having some sort of major neurological incident.

  “Tamyra!” he called. He knew he could page her using the button on his phone, but he always felt like a pretentious dick doing that.

  She pushed open the smoky glass doors. “Yes?”

  “Do you know anything about this final draft Second Phase Proposal file for the Buduŝie tehnologii deal?”

  She looked a little confused. “It’s the final draft Second Phase Proposal for the Buduŝie tehnologii deal.”

  “Yes, I worked that out. I didn’t write it?”

  “No, I did.”

  Gabe looked it over. “When did you do this?”

  “I had some downtime a couple of weeks ago, then a little more in Japan while you were out getting wasted with the bigwigs. I fiddled with it a bit more on the plane.”

  “I thought you were shopping and seeing the sights?”

  “Shopping is fun for only so long. I figured I’d save you the time.”

  Gabe scrolled through more of the document. “And this covers everything from the international lawyers?”

  “Yep.”

  “Right.” Gabe wasn’t sure what to say. “You know I could have done it myself.”

  Tamyra gave him a sweet smile. “I know.”

  It was a huge item off his to-do list, but the fact that Tamyra had written it better than he could have, and in her bits of spare time, only made him feel guilty.

  “Why won’t you let me give you a team—a position that doesn’t involve bringing me coffee?” They had this discussion at least every other month.

  “Someone needs to look out for you.”

  Gabe wanted to argue that he could look after himself and did not need a keeper.

  “And you pay me better than you pay your VPs.”

  “That’s because I let you write your own contracts.”

  “And you keep signing them. Anything else?”

  “No. No. Thank you. This is a big load off my plate.”

  “No problem.”

  “What are you working on now?” James asked as Dylan flipped through a glossy pamphlet emblazoned with the red S of Stanford.

  “Need to pick my residence hall by tomorrow if I want a chance of getting my first choice.” James put a bowl of oatmeal in front of Dylan and set down another for himself. “I’m trying to work out where the other economics majors might be hanging out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine, whichever hall you’re in.”

  Dylan looked up at him. “Oh no. You’re getting that look again.”

  “What look?”

  “That look you’ve been getting three times a day since I got in.”

  “Is it the Insanely Proud Parent look?”

  “More the Wallowing in Memories look.”

  James couldn’t deny that hard truth. “I was just thinking about your first day of kindergarten, when you came stomping out with a note pinned to your shirt because you had set yourself up as a problem child.”

  “That whole thing was not my fault,” Dylan jumped in, still defensive more than a decade later.

  “You’d picked the raisins out of your oatmeal raisin cookies at snack time—”

  “Because raisins don’t belong in cookies.”

  “Then traded them to another kid for a marble, then refused to give the marble back at recess.”

  “It was a fair trade. Buyer’s remorse is not my fault.”

  “Possibly, but the real point of the note seemed to be that you’d then thrown the marble in the storm drain so no one could have it. Your teacher was very concerned about your ability to share and cooperate.”

  Dylan laughed, then leaned forward. “Want to know a secret?”

  “Do I?”

  “I threw a rock down the drain. I’ve still got the marble.”

  James put his face into his hands and tried not to laugh. “Promise me you won’t get sent home from your first day of college with a note about your ability to share?”

  “I’ll do my best.” Dylan looked over his shoulder at the clock, then wolfed down his oatmeal in half a dozen large bites.

  James took a big swallow of his coffee. He needed to get moving as well, if he was going to grab his bus.

  Dylan dropped his bowl in the sink. “Sure you don’t need the car today?”

  “I’ll be fine. Have you got all your homework?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need me to wrap your ankle before you go?”

  “Dad, it’s fine. Stop fussing.”

  “I’m not going to get to fuss for much longer, so let me have this.”

  Dylan gave
him a peck on the cheek. “Have a good day at work, Dad.”

  “Drive safe.”

  “I will.”

  Gabe had asked Tamyra to work an extra half hour into the next day’s schedule before calling the number on the UCB Tech Services website.

  There were a handful of rings. “Hello, University Technical Services. How may I help you?” Gabe didn’t recognize the flat, bored voice.

  “Hi. I’m looking for James… Maron.”

  A slurping sound came down the line, and Gabe heard what sounded like a TV in the background. “Yeah, he’s out on a job. Can I take a message?”

  “Yes. If you could tell him Gabriel Juarez called. I have a software patch for him, and if he’d be willing to meet me a half hour early tomorrow, I can get it in place before my talk.”

  “Sure, I’ll pass it on.” There was chewing.

  “Thank you.” The person on the other end hung up before Gabe could give him his number. He tried to remind himself that being a top executive at a major global company didn’t mean random people on the phone had any idea who he was.

  James was leaning against the door to the lecture hall. “I was told some guy with a Mexican-sounding name wanted to meet me a half hour before something, and there was something about a software patch? I took a guess it might be you.”

  “I’m surprised that much came through.”

  James looked exceedingly irritated. “Yeah, I’ve written up Dave about his message-taking skills more than once. But you’ve got a patch?”

  Gabe held up a USB stick and his laptop. “There’s something to be said for being a guy with a window office.”

  James got the laptop hooked up.

  “I was told to attach the thumb drive and stand back.”

  “And nothing bad has ever come of that?” Gabe heard James mutter.

  Gabe slipped it in the USB drive. Nothing happened. “Maybe I need to click on it.” Suddenly there was humming from the hard drive, and lights blinked. A series of application windows opened of their own accord. The screen went blue, then black.