Chapter 22: April 3, 1987: Part II

"You made a good impression on Marjorie,” Tom says. “That'll help you a lot.”

He strokes his chin. "We could use you in the summer. You'd be an independent contractor instead of an employee, so there wouldn't be any benefits. Probably, Marjorie would give you a box of stuff and a list of duties on Mondays, and as long as you finished everything by Friday afternoon, we could have a new assignment for you.

"It is really monotonous though. Dull, dull work that no one really enjoys. Depending on what she gave you, it might take you ten to twenty hours each week. We pay higher than minimum wage, so that’s something to consider." He half-smiles. "Sorry, I think I was mostly talking to myself there."

I smile, which is harder right now than I thought it would be. "Sure. I'd love to do some side work this summer."

"When do classes end?"

"Second week of May."

"Come in and talk to HR after finals. They'll set up your contract work and your internship. It should be a smooth transition."

"So, it looks like we'll be working together for the next year."

He grins. "Hopefully longer." He reaches across his desk and picks up a piece of paper. "What do you think about this coat and scarf?"

I take the sketch and look at the coat. "A lot of buttons, but the slant is interesting. So, it folds over itself?"

He nods. "Keeps the torso warmer like a traditional coat, but looks like a jacket."

"Looks good. The scarf looks like a scarf. What type of material are you considering?"

"Maybe suede?"

I laugh. "Is this a test?"

"What?"

"You can't make a winter anything out of suede. People will hate you as soon as it starts to snow."

"Good call. Maybe a cotton-polyester blend instead."

I hand the sketch back to him. "You weren't really going to make it out of suede were you?"

He chuckles. "No." He reaches across his desk to return the sketch. In the process, he knocks over a picture frame with his elbow. When he picks it up, I stare at it; it’s his family: him, his wife, and three young kids.

I keep smiling, despite the throbbing gut punch. "How old are your kids?"

"Darren and Timothy are ten and seven. Tina just turned two."

"They're gorgeous," I say, aware of the lump in my throat.

He looks at the picture with admiration. "Yeah, they inherited that, and most of their other positive qualities, from their mom. That's Kari. I’m so lucky that she picked me. Good woman and a great mom."

Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t blink them away.

Stand up, shake his hand, and walk the hell out of here, I tell myself. I swallow. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity–"

Tears stream down my face and the pain in my vocal chords chokes me as I stifle the sobs. I quickly wipe my face. "I, uh…" I force myself to swallow, feeling vibrations throughout my chest. "Sorry."

I expect to see panic, surprise, or nervousness, but he simply looks concerned.

Don't ask me anything. Don't ask me anything. Don't ask me anything. Let's just end this.

He hands me the box of tissues from his desk. "Want a water?"

I dry my eyes. "No, really, I'm fine. Sorry."

"People don't usually spontaneously burst into tears because they're fine… Not to say that there aren't exceptions, I guess." He stands, removes two bottles of water from a mini-fridge on the bottom shelf of the tall bookshelf, and rejoins me, handing me a bottle.

"Thanks." I take a sip, and the cold liquid chills my scorched insides. "Sorry… This isn't a very good second impression."

"Just shows that you're human. No worries."

"I had a weird morning, and it just hit me."

"Oh?"

I sigh slowly. "An eighteen-year-old who lives in our dorm is pregnant, and my husband and I agreed to adopt the baby. We signed the papers this morning."

"Congratulations?"

"Yeah. We're really excited about it. The baby is due mid-August, but it shouldn't affect my internship. We've planned our schedules carefully."

"And seeing a picture of my family sent you into tears?"

"No,” I say, “sorry. It sounds like your wife is a great mother and I just–" I take another sip to control the returned choking. "I was just told a few hours ago that my mother died."

Sadness blankets his face. With maybe the exception of Colin, I've never seen someone have such a sudden emotional reaction. "I'm so sorry, Ra'Shelle."

To my horror, I begin rambling. "She was a terrible, wretched woman, and the world is better without her. We were on awful terms, but I always thought we'd–” I swallow. “And now I'm about to have a kid of my own and my first internship, and I don't have a parent to share it with or ask for advice." I sigh again. "It's just taking a second for me to adjust to the reality of that."

Tom takes a sip of his water. "This is none of my business, but your father’s not around either?"

"He left when I was still a baby." I rub my forehead. "Sorry. It's just that I heard the news, like four hours ago, and I haven't seen Colin yet. I didn't mean to unload on you."

"I don't mind. My life was pretty chaotic, and I was a bit of a mess at your age. I understand that life’s complicated."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, you're doing fine now."

"I met Kari, and Professor Truman was a supportive mentor. They both mellowed me."

I half-smile. "Colin would tell you that I'm a lot less neurotic than I was a couple of years ago. This is just a rough moment."

He cocks his head. "There's something about you. It’s undefinable, but it’s there."

I take a drink. "Colin says that a lot."

He looks at his watch. "Do you need to go back for a late class or anything?"

"No. I don't have afternoon classes on Fridays this semester."

"Do you play chess?"

I nervously clear my throat. "I'm in a club."

He raises his eyebrows. "Any good?"

"Is this to test my honesty or humility?"

"It can't be both?" he asks.

"I'm better than others in the club, but not good enough that I'd enter into a competition."

He steps behind his desk and pulls a rolled up chess board out of a drawer, along with a fabric, zippered bag. He gestures toward the round table. "Why don't we play a game?"

He rolls out the chess board and opens the bag, spilling the plastic pieces onto the table.

"Did you want to go into fashion?" I ask as we set up the board.

"I liked the excitement in the fashion industry,” he says, helping me. “I liked that tastes changed, and I especially liked the more innovative, bold designers, but I was a lot like you probably. I loved to draw. This was a natural fit. A lot of people work here because they’re really into clothes, but that wasn't ever my main drive."

He gestures toward me. "You first."

"I researched LFI. Your designs are unlike the rest of the industry. There's a lot of asymmetry, low maintenance fabrics, and practicality. It reminds me of clothes people actually do wear, rather than clothes the industry thinks people should wear."

"That's an accurate summary,” he says. “Kari calls them 'real clothes'. She's a big fan of the brand."

I choke back tears as I move my knight and take a drink.

We continue to play in silence for a few minutes. I can tell he’s thinking, and I’m happy to just focus on the game.

"Let me ask you something,” he finally says. “I'm considering opening an office in Chicago. What do you think about that?"

"Why Chicago?" I ask, not really sure why he’d ask me about a decision like this.

"You tell me."

Now I understand. "Okay. Well, if you want to stay in the States, you immediately think of L.A. and New York, but they're both saturated, and since we already discussed that LFI is atypical for the industry, you might have a harder time breaking into the market in those cities, even with your previous success.

"So, then the map is pretty open. You probably want something metropolitan, definitely more metropolitan than this. For your first satellite campus, you don't want to be too far away, so nothing east of the Mississippi. That leaves Dallas, St. Louis, Chicago, Minneapolis, Seattle, Phoenix, and San Francisco.

"Dallas is probably still too far away for you to be comfortable. Same with Phoenix. The cost of living and the price of office space would be much worse in San Francisco than your other options. St. Louis isn't really set up for a fashion business, at least not yet, and Seattle is the center of a music movement, making you a second choice at best.

"That leaves Minneapolis and Chicago. You chose Chicago."

"You would choose Minneapolis instead?"

I move my queen. "Check,” I say. “Chicago has better name recognition, especially for fashion."

"But?" he asks as he moves his king.

I move my rook. "But the crime rate in Chicago is significantly higher, as is the cost of living in comparison, and, perhaps most importantly, it's farther away from Headquarters. You have two kids and a toddler, so I suspect you're not planning on spending the next year in another state. Who do you trust to set up a satellite campus that far away?"

He moves his bishop before walking to the door and tilting his head outside. "Angelique, can you ask Sam to come in?"

He keeps the door open and sits back down.

I move my queen. “Check."

How many moves until you mate me?"

I take a drink. "Four."

A woman, not much older than Tom, with umber skin and a silver pixie cut confidently strides into the room, wearing a long, flowing dress and kitten heels. "You rang?"

"Ra'Shelle Dawson, this is Sam Lawrence, LFI's vice president. Sam, this is Ra'Shelle Dawson."

I stand and shake her hand. "A pleasure."

"Your work samples really impressed me."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Tom takes a drink. "Have a seat, Sam. Ra'Shelle is going to mate me in four moves."

"You're forcing her to play chess to land the job?” she says disapprovingly. “Tom."

He shakes his head, his eyes wide. "She's in a club!" he says defensively.

Sam smiles as she sits down. "Okay, so let's see it."

I return to my seat and move my queen. "Check. Do all your interns interview with the CEO and VP?"

"Never," Sam replies.

Tom moves his king. "Ra'Shelle thinks we should be in Minneapolis instead of Chicago."

Sam raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

I move my rook. "Check. I didn't say that."

Tom moves his king, I move my queen, and he moves his king again. "No. She gave a compelling argument for why we shouldn't be in Chicago. Then she wanted to know who I trusted enough to open a satellite office."

I move my rook. "That's mate." I extend my hand. "Good game."

Tom shakes my hand and laughs before knocking over his king. "Good game." He points to Sam. "This is who I trust enough to send to Chicago."

Sam leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. "But I thought we should be in Minneapolis first. Lower crime, lower cost of living, not as far away."

Tom raises his eyebrows at me.

I point at Sam, but look at Tom. "That's exactly what I said."

"Come on, Tom," Sam pleads, spreading her fingers on the table. "Minneapolis is six hours from Chicago. If we need to visit clients or do runway shows, or whatever, it's a drive and a hotel stay. We haven't rented the space yet. We can go to Chicago in a couple of years. I could even manage both. At least let me talk to some people, see if we can line up some clients in the Twin Cities."

Tom waves his hand. "Fine. You have two weeks to convince me that we should be in Minneapolis instead."

Sam hits her palms on the table. "Yes! You bet." She stands up and touches my shoulder. "Thank you for beating him at chess. I owe you one."

Waves of emotion and energy surge through my body. My stomach flips, and, for just a moment, I worry I’ll vomit on her gorgeous dress. "Glad I could help," I manage to say.

"Going to Minneapolis, yes!" Sam says as she walks through the door, hitting her hands on the top of the frame.

"I didn't say that!" Tom calls after her.

"Have a good weekend, boss," Sam replies, as she closes the door.

Tom begins returning the pieces to the bag. "That woman is the best strategic thinker I know. She was the third person I hired, initially for client relations, but I promoted her to vice president five years ago. In two weeks, she will convince me that we should be in Minneapolis."

I help him clear the board. "You were going to Minneapolis anyway, right?"

"Nope. I was set on Chicago. Hearing you make the same compelling points that she made a month ago made me reconsider. When the office opens in Minneapolis, you'll be partly responsible for that."

I begin rolling the board. "Then I really hope it succeeds."

He zips the bag. "Sam will make it succeed. I don't have any doubts about that. We could open an office in Antarctica, and she'd make it a success."

He walks to his desk and returns the chessboard to the drawer. "Did you drive here?"

"No. we don't have a car yet. I took the bus."

"I didn't have a car in college either. I lived on campus, and I didn't need anything else."

"That's how we feel too." I clear my throat. "Don't you have more important things to do? I mean, you didn't block off two hours of a Friday afternoon to talk to a future intern, did you?"

"This is important too," he says casually, as if prioritizing me isn't an imposition at all.

He picks up the phone, dials a number, waits, and then begins to speak. "Hey, love. Do you think Mia could stay another couple of hours? I know it's short notice. Did she say anything to you about plans tonight?… Will you call her and see if she can stay until six? Assuming she can, let's eat at Marco's. I'm bringing someone from work who I'd like you to meet." He pauses, then laughs. "No, it won't be nearly that bad. I promise."

He hangs up. "Can you have dinner with Kari and me?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

He cocks his head. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. You can take the bus there if you want, or we can do it another time, but I think you should meet her."

I shiver, remembering all the immoral businessmen who took advantage of me over the years. Then I remember Colin's words about how much I’ve changed. Nothing about Tom flags my instinct to avoid him.

"Sure. We can do it now… What was the 'not nearly that bad' part about?"

"Oh, a few months ago I was entertaining a prospective client, and he and his wife went to dinner with me and Kari. He was incredibly dull, and a lot of his stories were inappropriate. He made both of us uncomfortable, and now Kari’s a little cautious about meeting new work people."

The phone rings and he picks it up. "Tom Ledger… Great. Thanks, love. We're leaving now. See you in ten."

He gestures toward the door. "Let's go."

"Your wife is already off work?"

"She teaches first grade."

I finish my water before opening the door, and Tom turns off the lights.

"Have a good weekend, Angelique."

"You too, Tom."

"Stairs or elevator?" he asks me.

"Stairs. Always, stairs… Was that a test?"

"Not everything is a test, Ra'Shelle. Some things I just want to know."