Page 70 of Midlife Crisis

“Please. I can’t start a business right now. I need to feed my children first.” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I can almost picture Edie nodding. She knows what I mean. She told me she worked for years in a job she was good at but didn’t fulfill her like her position as manager of the therapy school. Gotta put food on the table somehow, she joked.

“Is everything okay between you and Hank? This is a lot to take in.” Edie softly adds.

“I’ve gotta go,” I practically whisper, my eyes closing once again.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything. Let’s get together this week.”

“Sure,” I say, my voice lowering. We hang up, and I pinch my forehead with my fingers. It’s going to be a long day.

“Why didn’t you say you needed more money?” The gruff voice startles me, and I spin to face Hank, arms crossed and leaning against the waiting room door. I’m ready to accuse him of eavesdropping, but the concerned expression on his face matches the pit in my gut. I can’t look at him. I refuse to feel sorry for him. It’s my turn to wallow in sorrow. My heart aches and I turn back for my computer although I’m blankly staring at the screen.

“And why can’t you start your own business?” The question brings to mind the night I told him of my dream. I’m blinded by the sweet memory of us dancing.

“I can’t.” It’s the only explanation I can give him. I see the reflection of him in my screen, but I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk at all. I need to find a new job and quickly.

“What about Pendelton?” Hank was pretty adamant I shouldn’t work for such a man, especially with his son’s advances. I tried to explain it was more about proving myself than getting the job. I wanted to feel I could acquire the account on my own.

I shrug, hoping to dismiss Hank, but I feel him step closer to my chair. I hear the rustle of his hand in a pocket and sense him lifting an empty coffee mug from the desk. Something metallic rattles against the ceramic and I turn with curiosity.

“If you still want to work for him, he’ll see you. I guarantee it.” His eyes weigh on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. Instead, I focus on the mug and the two metal cylinder pieces inside it.

“What’s this?”

“Spark plugs. His precious Bentley won’t start without them. I expect he’ll be calling soon. Better be ready for interview number two.” I can’t help but look up, questioning what he’s done. His only response is a wink before he turns for the garage.

30

A grand gesture, take two

[Hank]

I don’t tell her how I went to Pendelton’s offices. The low-rise building is black and sleek with a modern exterior of glass, but the inside contains dishware posters as its décor. The images prominently display their antiquated products. It’s a contradiction to the building and the designs Midge showed me. I don’t really want her working here, but I know she wants to prove herself to this ass, prove something to herself, and I want to help her see she can do anything. This is my grand gesture.

“Can I help you?” A pretty little blonde asks from behind a high counter desk. I don’t have an appointment, but Pendelton will see me. We’ve been working on his pricy toys for a decade.

“Hank Paige. Pendelton is expecting me.” When Midge didn’t get the job, I made him a counter offer, either see Midge as he promised, or his vehicle won’t run. He didn’t believe my proposition, so I’m here unannounced to collect on my threat. Instead of the old, white-haired man with a mousy looking mustache, I’m greeted by a man in his late thirties, clean-cut, sharp suit, tugging on his cufflinks.

“May I help you?” he offers, sneering at my hand and thinking twice about shaking mine. Grease sits under my fingernails. I left it there on purpose. “I’m Julian Pendelton.”

“I’m here to see the old man.” He’s definitely the one who interviewed Midge, and my fingers twitch to punch him. We stand facing off like one of those this or that comparisons. He’s prim, trim, and refined, like some of the dishes portrayed in the pictures on the wall. I’m the chrome edge and leather straps on Midge’s designs.

“My father’s busy. What can I do for you?”

“I’m thinking you remember Midge Everette. She interviewed here last week. She and your father had a deal.”

Julian smiles slowly. “Of course, I remember her.” The implication is clear. Midge made an impression, and this man hoped to collect with his offer.

“She’s my girl,” I clarify for him, “and your old man made her a promise. I’m here to see he holds true to that.”

“Why do I sense there’s a threat in your statement?”

“No threat. I keep my promises.” My eyes narrow as I wait.

“I’ll pass on your visit to my father.” He straightens the already stiff cuffs and excuses himself.

As I exit the building, I can’t miss the Bentley, parked front and center before the building. A quick unlatch of the hood, and I find what I need, proving I’m loyal to a fault.

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