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Something in his posture and the stiffness in his words alerts me that these aren't his words. I have a hunch I know who they belong to, and my heart grows in size.
After informing him that his math homework was correct, I take refuge in my room, dialing Christopher's number. He doesn't pick up, and after a few rings, I give up. I debate sending him a message, but he said he’ll be working over the weekend, and if he’s still at the office, I don’t want to disturb him.
***
Christopher
It's almost midnight when I leave the company building, heading straight for the cab the doorman called for me. My neck is stiff, and no amount of flexing it will release the tension. When I first joined Bennett Enterprises, I used to make fun of my brothers for practically never leaving the office. I insisted that the human body wasn't built for sitting in a chair all day, with bathroom trips and pacing around the office making up the sole physical activity. I should heed my own advice more often these days. But the truth is, as I learned over the years, some things can't be helped. When there's work to be done, there's work to be done. I can't just pretend it doesn't exist. What I didn't know then was that work doesn't just equal money. It equals people too.
For example, when we bought the packaging company here in Seattle, the previous owner had nearly brought it to bankruptcy with some bad decisions. During the initial assessment, it became clear that if we didn't fire half the employees, we'd incur huge losses for the first year. Most of them had worked at the company all their lives. What were they supposed to do, find a new job at one of the other non-packaging companies in the area? Train for a new career when they were nearing their sixties? The thought of practically putting people out on the street kept me up at night. I chose not to fire anyone. Bennett Enterprises could absorb that loss for a while, and my family agreed with me. It's just one of the benefits of keeping the shares in the family. The bank, on the other hand, wasn’t a fan of the plan.
“Mr. Bennett, I’ll be frank. This is not a smart business move,” Regis Johnson, our bank advisor, said.
“No, but it’s the right human move to make,” I replied calmly. I’d called him into my office to relay the news, knowing that being on our premises would give me the upper hand.
“Bennett Enterprises is not a charity.”
I rose from my seat and placed my knuckles on the desk, leaning slightly over it. I could practically see Regis cowering. I don’t often resort to intimidation, but when I do, it’s for a good cause.
“We can change banks at any time, Regis. Your competitors are banging on our doors, begging us to work with them.”
That was the end of the conversation, but the decision not to fire anyone also meant that I, and the entire operations department, had to put in double the work to turn the newly acquired packaging division around. Hence this trip to Seattle and the late nights.
Bone-tired as I am, I'm happy we've been making progress. So why do I have an unpleasant feeling in my gut? I can't place it, and it bothers me.
Five short minutes later, I place that feeling when I step inside the hotel. That's it. I don't hate the work, just coming "home" to an impersonal hotel room and a cold bed.
"Evening, Mr. Bennett," the receptionist greets me, smiling a little too brightly, leaning over the reception desk to display her cleavage. She's been hitting on
me since I arrived, making it plenty clear she'd love to warm my bed. I just nod, considering some rude one-liners to make it clear I'm not interested since she's not a hint taker. In the end, I decide against it because I'm far too tired to come up with anything smart.
"I have a package for you," she says. At first I think she means it as an innuendo, but then she places an actual package on the reception desk. “It arrived yesterday, but the other shift manager forgot about it.”
"Thanks."
Surprised, I pick it up, inspecting it on the way to the elevator. There are no details on the sender, which makes me think my family's up to something. I wait until I'm inside my room to open it.
"What the…?"
I find a red, midsized blanket inside and a note.
Red warms up the surrounding colors, even gray. Try putting it on the couch in your room.
Victoria
Heading straight to the couch, I crumple the blanket and toss it in one corner. It looks as if someone recently sat there. I imagine it was Victoria, curled up with a book, drinking eggnog. She’s right; the room instantly looks less like a cave. It looks warmer. The corners of my mouth lift up, and I have the sudden urge to hear her voice. She called earlier, but I was in a meeting. I almost call her but then I remember the time, so I settle for sending her a text message instead.
Christopher: Thanks for the blanket. You're right. It does warm the room up.
I type a few more things, then delete them. I wasn't expecting her to do this, mostly because I've come to expect nothing from the women I date. I'm used to being the one with the surprise gifts. The dating I've done over the past years never ran deeper than physical attraction and having a good time together, but I still wanted my partners to be happy. Happiness usually translated to presents, not of a romantic nature because I'd left those behind until recently. The gifts were of the truckload-of-money nature. The more expensive, the brighter their smile. When things eventually ended, they missed the gifts more than they missed me. The sound of my ringtone jolts me to the here and now. Victoria is calling.
Putting the phone to my ear, I say, "I thought you'd be sleeping."
"Nah, I've been reading. I couldn't fall asleep."
"Admit it. You were waiting for me to call back. Sorry for not answering. I was in a meeting."
"I will admit to nothing. All you will get is a maybe."
