CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We lay in bed sweaty and exhausted. I try to get out of bed, but he pulls me back in. “I missed you,” he says as he engulfs me in a bear hug.
I forgot in just a week how hard his body is and how warm and almost hot it feels wrapped around me. How good it feels to be drenched and slathered in each other’s sweat.
“A week apart is too long,” he says, kissing my neck and back.
“Mmm,” I moan, “I missed you too.”
“Sorry I couldn’t respond earlier,” he says. “Staying insanely busy at the shop.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “You know how to work it in more ways than one. I can imagine you’re in high demand.”
He kisses me. “I want to hear about everything,” he says.
We’ve talked almost every day since I’ve been gone, so there’s not much to catch him up on—except for the latest news, of course.
“Lots of schnitzel,” I say. “I brought back Jaegerslaager.”
He twists his face. “I’ll leave that to you,” he says. He pauses for a moment. “Or maybe not.”
We both laugh. We haven’t discussed my drunken behavior since that night. We haven’t needed to, some problems seeming to solve themselves.
“You should be in good graces with that jackass boss of yours now, no?”
His phone beeps before I can answer.
“Is it already 4? I have to get back. I have a 4:30 that’ll take a couple hours,” he says. He takes a deep breath then gets up to get in the shower.
“Did you already get unpacked?”
“I started,” I say, still lying in bed, catching my breath after the last couple of hours. “Thanks for the dry cleaning,“ I say.
He looks out of the bathroom and smiles. “Of course,” he says, “that was my fault.”
I smile. “Gotta talk to you about work,” I say.
“When I get back?”
“Okay,” I say.
The water turns on.
“Joining?” He asks.
“I’ll go after,” I say. “I can’t walk or take another thrashing.”
He gives me a sly smile. “Probably better,” he says. “Gotta hurry and get back.”
He’s in and out of the shower in 10 minutes.
“We’ll talk when I get back,” he says. “Make yourself at home until then.” He gives me a deep kiss then looks at me for a few seconds.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says through a scruffy grin. “Just glad you’re back.”
I day dream for a moment thinking of Patrick. I’m about to doze off but catch myself. The realities of work have overtaken my fantasies.
I roll out of bed and look for my phone. Still no word from Rachel, which is a bit odd. I would have at least expected an inquiry as to how the sex went and if I’d blurted out my confession of love to Patrick.
I take another shower and do some more thinking.
I check my email after the shower. It’s the morning hours in Frankfurt, and I want to follow up on some final logistics that still need hashing out over email. There’s nothing from the Frankfurt office, but there is a mail from Mason. I don’t open it. The subject line says enough: DECISION.
I couldn’t have showered for more than 20 minutes, but there seems at least that many messages from Rachel. I go through them, most saying the same thing: CALL ME.
I call but she doesn’t answer. I leave a message then try again. I send a text just in case. I watch, waiting for the phone to light up with a response.
She finally calls back. I pick up and she doesn’t wait for me to say hello. “Meet us at Sparks! Now!”
“It’s barely five,” I tell her. “Happy hour doesn’t start for an hour. And I’m at Patrick’s, in Queens”
“Just get here,” she says, “Kevin got fired.”
“Are we celebrating?” I ask, excited.
“Don’t be a dick,” she says. “It’s an emergency.”
My enemy getting fired doesn’t seem like an emergency, but as Rachel seems frantic and Patrick’s not going to be back for a couple of hours anyway, I make the trip over.
I walk into the not-so happy hour scene. They’re sitting at the bar, him looking sad, and she looking conciliatory as she rubs his arm. They’ve been sitting there long enough for the ice in their still full 2-for-1 drinks to melt. Their glasses have sweated sad puddles as if they’ve been crying at the news.
“Hey guys,” I say.
Rachel hugs me. “Welcome back,” she says.
Matthews sits there silent, I think in shock.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Mason’s a dick,” Rachel says.
Matthews recounts his Closing Time experience. “What a dick,” he says.
Somewhere in his explanation he alludes to things being different had we both gone on the trip.
The asshole in me wants to point out that had Matthews not flashed his own dick the trip would have gone as planned and maybe this wouldn’t be happening. But that seems petty and trite.
At any rate, dicks seem to be the theme of the afternoon.
An hour or so later we’ve had a couple of drinks and the shock of what happened has begun to wane.
I get a text from Patrick, inquiring into my whereabouts. I explain the situation to Patrick and he decides to join us. In the back of my mind I’m wondering if he’s coming to babysit, but another message follows: I NEED YOU...AND A DRINK. SEE YOU IN 20.
“People are stupid,” Rachel says.
“Yeah, and stupidity is expensive,” adds Patrick. He’s explaining again how someone wants to sue the shop for a bad tattoo.
I feel terrible. The bad tattoo is on my account. The night of raw chicken and wine led to Patrick being late, and his sister starting the tattoo without him. He’s shown us the tattoo, and it doesn’t look bad at all, but as Rachel said, some people are just stupid.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if all of this could have been avoided if I hadn’t had my drunken fit and he would have left like he was supposed to that night and gotten to work the next morning on time.
I look into his eyes, searching for signs of blame. I don’t find any but apologize again. “I’m sorry,” I say, sure that this is at least partly my fault.
He grabs me by the head with both hands and pulls me in close. He kisses me, deeply, then tells me to stop apologizing. “It’s not your fault that people are stupid,” he says. “Besides, you’ll be moving to the poorhouse with me.”
“Or you to Berlin,” Rachel says.
Either the color has drained from my face or I’ve turned completely red. In either case, Rachel picks up on the change in hue and says nothing else about Germany.
“Whew,” I say, “too many drinks. I need a potty break.”
“Me too,” Rachel says. Potty break is a code between us, meaning we need to excuse ourselves to talk (shit).
“Sorry,” she says. “I’m drunk.”
“How do you even know about it?”
“You texted me,” she says, “and I am in HR.”
“I haven’t said anything to Patrick yet,” I say.
“Sorry,” she says, “And I didn’t want to bring it up around Kevin, he’s already fragile. He wanted the job and thought he was getting the promotion. Instead, he got fired.”
“Ouch,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” she says. “I didn’t even know he was getting the ax. Anyway, what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I don’t want to bring it up with Patrick yet.”
“How long have they given you to decide? Mason is trying to get rid of you, you know. I think he was expecting you to fail so he could fire you.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he eats batshit and it makes him crazy. Also, he wants to bring in all new people. Fresh grads that he can berate and pay next to nothing.”
I shake my head. Maybe I should get back to Berlin while I can. “Anyway, let’s get back out there,” I say. “Don’t say anything else about it, okay?”
We get back to find that Devante and a friend have joined the group.
“Mr. Top Dog,” Devante says. “Congrats on slaying it in Germany.”
I flash a nervous smile. “Thanks, man,” I say. “Another day another dollar.”
“—or euro,” Devante’s friend says.
“This is Ricky,” Devante says. “He was in Germany for awhile, too.”
“Really? What part?” I ask.
“Rammstein,” he says. “I was in the Air Force stationed there for a few years.”
“Got me a military man,” Devante says.
“Former military,” Ricky corrects.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Devante says.
My eye catches Patrick’s, who looks tired. I rub my hand up his back and he whispers something dirty in my ear that makes me smile.
“Y’all so nasty,” Devante says.
“Yeah,” I say smiling, “we’re gonna head on out.”
We say our goodbyes and wish Matthews good luck. Matthews jokes about me not having gotten rid of him just yet, as we make plans to all get together and have brunch or something soon.
I hope Rachel comes to her senses before then.
Patrick and I get in a cab. As he gives the driver directions, I wonder what’s on the menu for dinner, besides each other. Patrick looks tired and I feel bad again, but stop myself.
“So,” Patrick says, as soon as the cab starts moving. “Kevin said something about you taking a job he wanted in Berlin?”