CHAPTER TWELVE
MATEO
I WALK UP THE STEPS and into the room as it’s finally starting to settle.
I don’t know how these things work, but based on the rhythms I’ve seen so far, the people attending mostly work on their problems in groups, then take breaks for stuff like the panel and mini hot-seats.
I hope my round was the last of them. And I hope I’m done for the day because these people are mind-numbing. There are a few brighter sparks, but the ideas they presented for my opinion were pointless. A perfect example of why I don’t do consulting, and never will.
There was one bright spot among them. Alvin. Like the chipmunk. But his idea? It’s brilliant. Nothing I’m remotely attached to, but worth pursuing. He needs a few connections and a lot of ambition. And that’s the thing everyone forgets — it’s not enough to have the goods; you have to act before anything can happen. Most people are lazy. If Alvin’s not, he could make a difference in the world, like he wants to. And he could end up a very rich man.
Outside just now, I told him what I thought he should do. Who to talk to. Whether he follows through, who knows. But at least I’ve given a worthy competitor all the advantage I can.
Back inside, I scan the room. I don’t realize it until I see her, but I’m looking for Elizabeth. I suppose I want approval to leave, even though I don’t need it from her or anyone else. I guess I’m trying to play my part and make Damon happy.
Elizabeth looks out of sorts. Discombobulated, a bit frazzled. Her hair is tousled as if she was out in the wind.
She meets my eye. For the third time, we look at each other from across the room. It’s strange. I’ve seen a progression in her through our three visual encounters. The first stare was filled with hate. Then frustration. Finally, in this one, I see only confusion.
Or maybe embarrassment? Like I’ve caught her in something?
I shrug: Do you need anything else from me?
Blinking away that strange emotion, she shakes her head: No. It’s fine. You can go.
I walk into a quiet hallway and call the limo company that brought me here. Before I can order my ride back to the airstrip, I hear recognition in the receptionist’s voice. She asks me to hold, then transfers me to a man who introduces himself as Charles Ricks.
Charles apologizes, profusely. Only after all the apologies does he tell me that the driver who brought me tripped at the dispatch center and sprained his ankle. Thanks to a convention in Dallas, every one of their other drivers is already out with a client.
I’m annoyed, but he’s so apologetic that I can’t bring myself to berate him. I just give him my assistant’s number so he can forward a credit for my next visit, then hang up.
I try two more limo services. Also full.
I consider getting an Uber, but when I glance at the app’s screen, I see what my gut suggested — this place is too far out of the city, and most of the locals must have gone up into Dallas anyway. It’ll be nearly an hour before I can get a ride.
Fuck it. I’ll call Enterprise. They’ll pick me up.
I call my assistant, Jean, and ask her to make the call for my rental. I tell her to make sure all the paperwork bullshit is handled by the time they arrive.
She texts me five minutes later letting me know that everything is set. All they’ll need is my signature. She doesn’t tell me what kind of car they had for me. Probably a Hyundai.
I slip the phone back into my pocket. I guess I’m here for a while.
I kill the next two hours in an unlocked back room off the hallway, wondering why I didn’t look for this cozy little escape earlier. I check my email, my accounts, the custom app we use at PEZA to monitor our locations’ flow, inventory, and uptime. Then I browse the net with no particular destination in mind. I end up looking Elizabeth up on Forage again, and I find the same photos that Taylor did, of her and the other girls on the beach.
I stop. I click on the first photo then zoom in.
I’m strangely fascinated. It’s not like before when Taylor showed me these snaps. His angle was, “Wow, check it out, tits.” But now I’m alone, and I don’t have Taylor’s presence or reaction to consider. I realize that I’ve sought these photos out not to ogle, but because I’m curious.
Elizabeth Frasier still vexes me, but she does it in a different way from before. I think of how I’ve watched her run the room today. It’s hard to think of her as an airhead spoiled brat quite as easily. And I think of the way we’ve met eyes from across the room three times: first in hatred, then frustration. Then confusion, or maybe guilt.
It dawns on me that from the moment I sat in this back room, I meant to find these photos. I haven’t zoomed in on her chest. I’ve zoomed in on her face. I’m trying to picture the lighthearted, carefree smile from these photos on the woman in the other room. It’s strange, but no longer impossible. There’s another facet to Miss Bitch. I’ve seen it more and more as the day has worn on — as fatigue from this marathon of brainpower has chipped at her armor.
A text rolls down from the top of my screen. It apologizes, telling me that they’ve had trouble locating a car and that it might be just a bit longer.
Fifteen minutes later, I get another update: still no car.
My fists clench. I close my eyes and exhale slowly to stifle my annoyance. I’m tired of being here. Of hiding in this back room, for fear more dreary nerds assault me with their banal ideas. I’ve done my duty here. I’m ready to get the hell out.
The next time, it’s almost a half-hour before a new text, alerting me that my wait will continue.
It’s nearly sunset before I finally hear the good news. By then my phone has single-digit battery life left, and I’m having a hard time keeping my chin up. I annoy easily. And also, fuck being here at all.
There’s a second exit at the end of my small privacy hallway, so I take it. I find two cars waiting with their lights on. One is my rental, and not terribly impressive.
The rental agent, standing by the second, idling car with his ride back inside, greets me with an oversized smile. He’s all teeth under a light fixed to the building. But he wants me to fill out a stack of papers, despite Jean’s promise that it would just be a signature. Ten minutes in, he seems to notice that some inconsequential piece of paperwork is missing and calls the office. Only then does he inspect the vehicle pre-rental to find that someone at HQ has entered the VIN wrong.
I wait. And wait. Maybe I should have just ordered the fucking Uber after all. I had fantasies of driving around under my own power for a half-hour or so before heading to my plane, seeing as I get to take the wheel myself so seldom these days. But it’s just not worth it. Not now. The second this guy gives me the keys, I’m hauling ass to the airstrip. It would have been faster to steal a bike.
He finally gives me the keys. The sun is gone. He should leave now, because I'm about to kill someone.
I’m sure, the second the Enterprise guys pull away, that it’ll turn out they gave me the wrong keys. Or that the car won’t start. Thankfully I’m wrong. It turns over, and the radio blares something from the hick station the rental agent must’ve been listening to on the way over. Too keyed up to pay it any mind, I jam the transmission into reverse. Tires squeal as I back out, to an eardrum-bursting Garth, I think.
I reach for the Off button. This shit is torture.
I don’t reach it before some other asshole’s car rams right into me.