He and V have lunch on Thursday. This time he’s ofered to bring the meal to her office. Caught off guard, she agrees.
When J hands his identification to the security officer, she raises an eyebrow and says, “Oh, so you’rethat guy.” J immediately wonders what V has told her about him...until she laughs and says, “Just joking with you! Here’s your pass—sign in on the fourteenth floor.”
The receptionist on the fourteenth floor’s knowledge of him seems a little more informed, though not to the degree of bias.
“You’re the musician, aren’t you?” the immaculately coiffed man says. “Thor plays your music all the time. Let me give V a buzz.”
The reception area is a ramshackle affair. While it’s not full of boxes and crates, J wouldn’t say it contains furniture, either. Or at least not permanent furniture; there are two folding chairs, one open, one folded. And there’s something that might be a table or a tipped-over shelf.
“I know it looks dire,” V says, appearing from a side door. “We haven’t had much time to decorate. One of our advisors had the space available, so we took it furnished. Or semi-furnished. I think there was a massive layoff in the last company that was here, and I suspect the employees took the good furniture with them as a kiss-off to the bosses.”
J holds up the bag he’s brought. “There happen to be seven different salad places in a two-block radius, so I got a salad from each of them and had them mixed together into a super salad. Only the best for you.”
“Did you remember to get forks?”
J blanches. “I’m sure they put some in there.”
“Don’t worry. I have forks.”
The inner sanctum of the office isn’t as bare-boned as the lobby. It looks like someone made an inebriated, homesick dash through an IKEA; there is even a Swedish flag hanging on a door. V takes J to what she calls a “small conference room”—J thinks it might be more similar to a holding cell, containing a round wood table with, strangely, a box of tissues at its center. (For sneezes? Tears?) As heunpacks the salads (from a place called Just Salad, since J felt more comfortable in the hands of a specialist), V goes to retrieve some forks from her desk.
J begins to wonder if this is one of those American buildings that skips the thirteenth floor, meaning that the fourteenth floor is really the thirteenth. He wishes he’d paid closer attention in the elevator...
“Our superstar! It’s so good to see you!”
Thor is standing the doorway, grinning with sincere enthusiasm.
“Thor!” J stands, and there is an awkward pause (on J’s part) where J tries to determine whether a handshake or a hug would be more appropriate. Thor, however, doesn’t deliberate, and wraps his arms around J like they are reunited fraternity brothers.
“It’s so good to see you,” Thor says. In truth, J and Thor have only met a handful of times, mostly in passing as J picked V up or dropped V off. Thor seems a little more put together now, a little fitter. It is rare for a nineteen-year-old boy to have clothing that looks deliberately chosen to impress, but Thor, who at home seemed to subsist on sweatpants and t-shirts, now looks like his button-down has been starched and pressed for maximum effect.
J guesses the new look comes from the professionalism that has been thrust upon him...but then he guesses again as Thor says, eyes alight, “You have to meet Meta!”
A wraith of a girl emerges from behind him dressed in a three-hundred-dollar t-shirt that J thinks is a ten-dollar t-shirt and a skirt that would not be out of place at a Renaissance fair.
She doesn’t quite muster a smile, but she does offer her hand for J to shake.
“It’s so good to meet you,” she says. “We listen to you all the time.”
J can’t help but note the lack of compliment here. He suspects that she is not in charge of the playlist when his songs are playing.
“We have J to thank for Secret Project’s name!” Thor reminds Meta. “As well as so many other things. Honestly, when I think of the couple I want us to be, I often think of J and V. The two of you are so inspiring.”
J wants to ask,Are we? But he also is aware he’s treading on V’s territory, and thus he should not be the one to correct any of the markings.
The doorway isn’t big enough for V to come through with Thor and Meta standing there; only J can see that she’s arrived and probably heard the last minute of conversation. It isn’t until she says “I found the forks!” that Thor and Meta part to let her squeeze into the conference room.
“Are you here to do a show?” Thor asks. “If so, we’d love to come.”
Before J can answer, V steps in with “I told you I’d let you know the next time he’s playing! Don’t you trust me, Thor?”
Thor laughs. Meta, notably, doesn’t.
“Fair,” Thor says. J senses this is a common dynamic—V is the older sister who knows the rules a little better, so he defers to her.
“I’m here to sing at two weddings,” J tells him.
“Weddings are more about taxes than they are about love,” Meta states.
