Chapter 3

Andrew

 

Wyatt has planned a celebratory dinner after winning today’s case. It will be him and his wife, along with me and my wife, Maria. The dinner is at Per Se at Columbus Circle and it’s one of those shi shi, overpriced places where the meals are as expensive as a car payment on an Audi A6.

It’s not my cup of tea. I’m not interested in learning every detail and the ‘story’ of where every item on the menu has come from. Or whether or not the Vermont farmers know what their cows are doing at every minute of every day. Great marketing on their part though, I’ll give them credit for that. People eat that shit up.

Here we are at the restaurant… waiting to be seated. Basically, tonight is going to consist of me playing along with a dumb smile on my face and pretending like I’m having a good time. Even though I won in court today, I don’t feel like fucking celebrating. At least not with the present company of Wyatt Young, and our two wives.

“Pay attention! Where’s your head at tonight, Andrew?”

It’s my wife being her usual controlling self. Apparently I didn’t move fast enough when we were called to be seated. In all honesty, I probably was zoning out. But that doesn’t mean I have to be scolded by a wife who acts like an overbearing mother.

Once we’re at our table, my boss Wyatt orders a bottle of champagne and begins to make a toast.

“To the most successful lawyer in New York City and his gorgeous wife. Thank you once again for kicking butt today and making our firm one of the most successful in the city. I’m proud to have you as an associate, Andrew. And to beautiful Maria, thank you for keeping this boy in line. Hear, hear!”

Hear, hear. If he only knew how true that last statement really is. You’d think that my wife would be happy, being married to one of the most successful attorneys in the city. But she’s not. I’m not. Whatever we may have had at one time is long gone.

Now she whittles away the hours and days, spending my hard earned money on frivolous Internet shopping binges, and complaining to me when I get home. Whoever said that money doesn’t buy happiness is a true genius.

My wife suddenly scowls at the poor waiter. “We told you we needed more time!” Then she immediately turns to Mrs. Young and smiles. “Barbara, so tell me how your trip to the Seychelles was. Did you stay at the Four Seasons again?”

I’ve always said to never trust a person who is rude to a waiter. And it still holds true.

Wyatt takes out a hankie from his pocket and boorishly blows his nose. Classy.

Then he looks me up and down. “Andrew, that new attorney we hired isn’t putting in enough billable hours. What do you think… do you want to have a talk with him? Give him a warning?”

What I really want to say is no, not really.

But, naturally I have to appease the slob. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do it,” I say.

Then my mind begins to wander off… again. I’ve never been so bored and uncomfortable in my life.

I begin to think of earlier today… after the verdict when I approached Logan. I really respect him and the tenacity and dedication he shows for his clients. I don’t know what it is about him, but I admire the guy greatly.

He really is a skillful attorney and I wasn’t joking when I asked him to join our firm. Yet, I can understand why he wouldn’t. Rumor has it that he’s gay and he’d never fit in at Lucas, Young & Associates. Especially having a homophobe bully as a boss… the one sitting across from me right now.

“ANDREW! ANDREW! What is wrong with you?”

That familiar shriek. I really should stop this daydreaming and try to at least fake that I’m actually present in the room.

Wyatt looks at me, perplexed. “Are we boring you, Andrew?” He chuckles.

Yes, as a matter of fact.

You are.

Our food arrives and our conversation isn’t getting any better. I begin to muster a little enthusiasm though, when later on I hear what Wyatt is beginning to talk about. “Andrew, the whole firm will be competing in the New York City Marathon this year.”

“Really?” I ask.

Finally, a topic worth listening to. “Who are we competing against?”

Wyatt finishes chewing his foie gras and clears his throat. “We’ll be competing against the district attorney’s office and other firms in Manhattan. Each firm will have a separate charity. Hopefully it will help boost our firm’s public image.”

The district attorney’s office. Hmmm. That means I’ll be competing against Logan! How intriguing. I’ll need to start training even harder and more often than I already am.

Wyatt looks more excited now than he has all night when he says, “I know you run all the time, Andrew. You’ll be the star of our team and wipe out the competition, helping our firm win.”

He probably gets a boner every time he says the words competition and winning in the same sentence.

Maria’s shaking her head. “Andrew spends nearly all of his time running. It’s like he does nothing else.”

She looks to Wyatt and his wife for affirmation. Poor her. It’s just another thing she doesn’t get to control. Did it ever cross her mind that I probably do it to get away from her?

I’m beginning to feel a little tipsy now and I’m getting tired of the charade of playing the perfect husband and wife couple. I cynically reply, “Really? And you’re actually bothered by that?”

No sooner than I’m saying it though, do I realize how tacky it is to be airing our dirty laundry in public… in front of my boss, no less.

But if she had an ounce of integrity, Maria would admit that she secretly loves the fact that I’m always out running. It means I’m out of her hair and she’s free to do whatever she does all day and night. She acts as though I’m a burden to her and has even gone as far as admitting to me that she married me for my money.

And I’m not about to give up running… it’s my therapy… it’s what keeps me sane and it’s a way to release all the stress and problems that go along with being a high powered attorney with a cold, detached and unhappy wife. It’s the only chance I get to do all day to clear my mind.          

Now there’s a noticeable tension lingering in the air and there’s no denying the hostility that has grown between Maria and me. Mrs. Young squirms in her seat and looks as though she needs to act quickly to try and break the ice.

She says reassuringly, “I think the two of you are an adorable couple.” Then she turns and looks at Maria dotingly. “Maybe having a baby will keep him home more?”

Oh boy, if that isn’t a hot topic. But it’s not any of her business why we’re in our mid to late 30s and haven’t started a family. The question from Mrs. Young was definitely a fishing expedition on her part to try and get any little gossip she can out of the New York power couple sitting in front of her.

Both Maria and I stay silent and stare daggers at each other from across the table.

I used to be in love with those eyes of hers at one time. Our courtship was great. I was madly in love with her and I thought she was with me.

But the bloom fell off the rose rather quickly once we were married, leaving only the thorns. We have sex about two or three times a year at best and it’s not because of my lack of wanting or trying.

It’s been so long since I’ve had any affection or touch from another person.

Having the pretty wife by my side was something I knew was expected of me though, both by my family and for my career. And Wyatt has so much as come right out and told me that my chances of making partner in the firm are slim to nothing if I ever divorce Maria. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I just have to bite my tongue and begrudgingly move forward.

I see Maria turn her head and hear her make a faint mumble in response to Mrs. Young’s baby question. Something to the effect of, “like that will ever happen.”

She’s right. Making a baby would actually require us to have sex.

Maria tilts her head slightly and finally speaks up louder, but in a daydreaming sort of fashion. “I never wanted kids. I guess some women aren’t cut out to be mothers.”

Thank the Lord we never brought a baby into this toxic mess.

Mrs. Young now looks incredibly uncomfortable. I can’t blame her, because I’m feeling the same way. But thankfully we’ve all finished eating and have declined both aperitif and dessert. I don’t think any of us at this table want to drag this out a minute longer.

“No, let me get that,” Wyatt says as I pick up the check. “It’s my treat. You deserve it after your performance today in the courtroom.”

I smile bashfully and hand it over. Even though the bill was exorbitant, I would have gladly paid it. Money means nothing to me at this point. My career, however, is the only thing that keeps me sane.

My career and running, that is. But who knows what I’d feel like if my personal life wasn’t in shambles. I might actually be a happy person, instead of having to always pretend to be one.

“Okay then, what do you say we wrap this evening up?” Good ole Wyatt, always the bearer of good news— except in this case I’m not joking.

Maria huffs. “I’d say that’s an excellent idea.”

And so ends our celebratory dinner.

Silence engulfs the taxi cab on the way home. Both Maria and I are looking out of our respective windows and the few feet that separate us feel like they’re miles apart.

Life’s pretty bad when you are unable to celebrate a simple career victory. When your personal life is so fucked up that you can’t experience a simple meal without strife and conflict. 

So, I go back to my hazy daydreaming state, watching the buildings, bright lights and people pass me by, not concentrating on any one thing in particular.

But that’s not a completely true statement, because there is one place my mind wanders to. Actually one particular person I’m thinking about.

But I’m not supposed to be thinking about him. Because he’s my opposing counsel – my enemy, not my friend. And, I’m not even thinking of him like a friend. I’m thinking of him in a way that a straight, married man shouldn’t.

And I am a straight, married man— aren’t I?