This morbid equation embodied research and development at Hunter-Powell Trust. In school, Connor could always do the research. Moreover, he could always predict the angles, instead of merely reacting to them as so many others did. After college it was business school and then, here; this brokerage house. Why wasn't he in the "Boiler Room," the place where young, hot executives made pitches for the trust and trust-funds of L.A.'s upper-class? Frankly those guys needed him here more. When some kid in a silver tie and shiny shoes pitched the newest stock to someone over a long lunch, it was because Connor had found that the entities which the stock represented would be in demand in the near future.
Return to Angola. Connor often wondered why he couldn't have had another skill that translated to dollars, that is, one that translated to dollars, but made more sense. Sadly, he'd long ago been resigned to the fact that many people made money when people far away died. Governments make you think that those two are mutually exclusive, but they are not. Connor wondered why he didn't work at the United Nations, but this was something he could do. His was honest work, albeit a little morose. In addition, were he to call a Senator to tell them the scenario that he was predicting, that same Senator would put him on hold to call a brokerage much like this one to invest in the same things that Connor saw potential in as well. So here he sat, every day writing a research paper that seemed fiction, until tomorrow made it all too real; and tomorrow always came.
"Dart!" a large man in an ill-advised suit and tie combination bounded into the office.
"Sweet Jesus Larry," Connor yelped, "you almost scared me half to death!"
"Ha, sorry kid," Larry, a cross between Tigger and a nine year old trapped in an early-thirties, 270 pound frame, continued in a jovial way. "Listen, just came down here to… Hey, are you OK, Connor? You look like a car hit you."
Connor looked up with glassy eyes, "Oh yeah, fine. This stuff can really get to you."
"What? War, famine?" Larry replied in a mockingly spooky voice.
"Exactly!" Connor responded in affirmation. "My job is predicting the book of Revelation."
"Now, now, your job is predicting both how they shall fight and how they will then correct the impending doom. We are occasionally here to help those who shall be smited."
"Smote." Connor responded without thinking.
"Huh?"
"Smite; past tense: smote."
"Whatever, Dartmouth." Larry grinned as one would have were he simply along for the ride.
"Just saying," Connor continued in a beleaguered tone, "most of this is so just so dark and terrible!"
"Yeah, I know," Larry narrowed his eyes and slowed down a notch. "Look, how is everything else? This stuff never used to tear you up."
"Yeah, that may be it, things are..."
"Audrey?"
"Yeah, I don't know, man," Connor exhaled deeply and paused before continuing. "I mean you always hear, 'this wasn't in the brochure', but this stuff was, right? I have a nice job, a nice girl, a nice car and a nice watch. I read Vanity Fair or whatever and I'm able to pick things out and buy them, but it's all," he stopped once again, "dude, it's as black and white as those very ads. It all seems so similar; no offense or anything."
"Brother," Larry chuckled, "none taken. I do this because I'm good at it. It fits me. It fits you, too. But yeah, sure, it is what it is. As far as jobs go, it's great, but man, this cannot be your gig."
"What do you mean?" Connor looked back at Larry disingenuously, "It is my gig."
"Nooooo, this is your job Dart"
Connor froze Larry with a glowering glance, "Would you stop with that name, please?"
"OK, OK, look, Connor, this is what you do, it affords you many things, but that's just it, what are your things? What does this place afford you the ability to do with your life? Because brother, this aint it, this is not your life. Your dreams are, the places you see are, your kids will be, so yes, before that, we hope she will be and listen big guy, whether that's Audrey or whether you have not met her yet, she will be it. This job, it's just a vehicle to your tomorrow. Oh," Larry suddenly stopped, his attention having been headed off by another train of thought, "by the way, speaking of those who determine our future, Big Ken wanted you in the Big Office. Sorry, that's what this was all about; I almost forgot. We don't all have that noodle of yours, kid."
Connor strolled down the hallway and at the elevator pushed the button for a few floors higher than any which usually beckoned him. Ken worked more with the companies, so his role was more tangible, while Connor's was more hypothetical. Still, these differences had never deterred Connor's opinion of Ken. He had always thought him to be a good man.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Straightening his navy tie (Dartmouth green wasn't allowed here and while at school in New Hampshire Connor had grown fond of the chameleon-like powers of navy; namely that his classmates could think it was a Red Sox color instead of knowing the truth of Connor's Yankees devotion), Connor walked down the granite hallway which was adorned with decorations. He walked past over sized plants and post modern art, or that day's variety thereof, which lined the walls. These people's lack of taste amazed Connor, but he respected the man behind the next door and that had always seemed far more important. Arriving at the end of the hall, Connor knocked twice on Ken's door and entered.
"There he is," Ken, a handsome, well built man in his early fifties announced with a smile as he stood to shake Connor's hand. "Wow, you're getting a lot of sun in that R & D palace of yours I see."
"Ahh, you know," Connor had always been pale and found humor to be a wonderful deflector for the abuse, "all that fluorescent."
"Anyhow kid, glad you could come up, it's been too long. What are you working on these days; anything uplifting?"
An eye roll was all Connor could offer in return, Ken knew not to ask these questions. "What about you boss?" Connor finally asked. "What's new in this end of the building? Quick, tell me before the altitude gets me a nose bleed!"
"Har, har," Ken returned the eye roll as he settled back into his chair and gestured for Connor to do the same. "You know all of this is just because I do see clients in here sometimes, this has no reflection on me and certainly none on you in comparison. Anyway, we have a meeting of bio-tech firms happening next week, some of Asia's brightest will be there in attendance."
"That sounds exciting," Conner replied, "though you'll probably have to stay in one of those tiny hotel rooms. I know I'd never be able to settle for the same posh hotel in Malaysia every time."
"No, no," Ken laughed off Connor's insinuation, "and in any event, they are actually moving the meeting more to the north than usual. This one will be in Japan."
"Wow," Connor nodded as a broad, toothy smile spread across his face, "that's not so bad. Oh, to be in your shoes for once!"
"Well, funny thing you say that," Ken leaned in and tried to get eye to eye with Connor, "I know you don't usually handle this end, but we need a keen set of eyes on it. Those in the real offices would like you to attend."
"What? Really? What about Lance? I thought he was your guy. It's not that I don't want to go, but is he OK?"
"No, you're right," Ken nodded, "he usually is that guy for us, but his wife is due in a few weeks and we need someone's complete attention here. Whoever we send needs to analyze this conference as it unfolds and so if it can't be the guy who does this all the time, it had best be a quick study and that is indeed you. Look, we really need you on this one. We'll get Margaret to put it all together for you, Alright?"
"No, sure," Connor stammered, he wasn't used to this side of the job, though he was eager to confirm his interest in helping, "no problems at all, yeah. When you say quick study, what is it that…"
"The packet," Ken didn't even let him finish his next question, "will be on your desk before the end of the day. It's mostly terms and the names of those we have a history with so you can treat them with the proper deference, etc."
"Proper deference," Connor wasn't sure what this could mean, but this certainly wasn't the side of the game plan that he usually handled, "that sounds rather dramatic."
Ken looked sincerely at Connor and chuckled, "Never been to the Far East, huh? Eh, it'll all be in there. You will have a great time and I will review it all with you when you get back from your trip, OK?"
They stood up, shook hands once again and it was all over before it had started. As Connor was to learn in the coming weeks, this was to be a new theme in his life. By this time next month, there would be new definitions for almost everything that he had ever taken the time to know and for many of the things he'd had little to no contact with as well.
"This aint it," Connor became more and more annoyed as he chewed over Larry's words on the way home. What the hell had he meant by that? If this weren't the actual 'gig,' then what was? Connor was perplexed by these different questions. This was all he'd ever concentrated on, this was the goal. In school, he had wanted the job. From his first day of work, he had wanted only to keep the job and now he wanted to maintain and eventually retire from... Retire from, he stopped himself. Was he 60? Retire? He had made this into his everything. If this were the vehicle, where was the destination? Sadly he didn't know.
Children, hobbies, dreams, Connor hadn't taken much time out recently for any of these. This seemed an inconvenient time to start. As for the kids, well at least he felt he had started on that track. He had the girl; well, he had a girl. Sad as it was, he could tell the distinction; only to himself, but he could. He would hear something about a couple's relationship and think, yes, that's what I have. However, then he'd hear stories about a guy who'd met the girl and be forced to confront the reality that he didn't really know to what they were referring. He had always assumed that the girl, that moment, all these things he saw in everyday life, only with italics, were some sort of fiction. It all sounded quite idealized.
Or, maybe, he'd then concede, it was a valid distinction. Maybe he had a girl, but not at all the girl. There were parts of him that had never gelled with Audrey. That was OK, or so he'd thought. As for the passions and interests which made her unique, it had been almost two years and he couldn't identify many of them. It saddened him that he really couldn't list many things which made her who she was. She had her friends, but as to what she and Connor did when they were with one another, that was neither a long, nor exciting list. Connor had activities he cared about, going to bookstores, talking about the news and politics and some other things as well and Audrey either didn't have specified interests, or Connor wasn't aware of them and neither of these options had helped them to grow closer.
Driving down the streets before reaching the freeway, Connor squinted as he faced another gray evening in Los Angeles' haze. So this is sunny California, he thought. Anyway, even when it was sunny it only served to bleach the side of a building or scar someone's body. And then there was the darkness. L.A. was almost legendary for its darkness (though half of it was just that people's retinas were burnt from that day's exposure to the sun). The gritty underside of L.A., as much fiction as fact, had been idealized in any number of films; some of which Connor had enjoyed. Still, more than anything else this city was a collection of people in longing. Often, they seemed to be pining for the sunshine lifestyle that they saw on TV every night, yet certainly didn't live. They couldn't shop in those stores. The pool in their apartment complex was devoid of any stars or supermodels and their car accidents, though frequent, never afforded them the chance to meet a celebrity or find themselves filmed by a wandering reality TV crew. Reality TV, what a concept, his silent rant continued. Some argued that it had been created for the commercial appeal, but Connor half imagined it financed by the very celebrities it had created the season before. For if they could keep those who were addicted to the shows at home glued to their TVs, then at least said viewers would be off the streets and not trying to meet super couple A at super bar B each Thursday evening. For the pursuit of celebrity, even if occasionally successful, couldn't be shared over the water cooler half as easily as a digestible one hour episode could. And in a place where this reality was so elusive, wasn't that what the average person was really seeking: the sharable experience of having sought?
The other half, they were more tragic. For within every collection of what's "Now and hot" one could see remnants of that which just-until-recently was hot, though now it was barely lukewarm. For the glamorously abandoned, they who had tasted celebrity and been the idolized, L.A. was a fickle spotlight that was very real and yet would never again shine on them. They sat aware of the reality that L.A. could happen, that it was happening at that very moment, just not for them. All this longing, Connor saw it on every corner of this bland gray town.
Maybe an excuse to escape was what he needed. Audrey was always telling him to get away for a bit. He figured she would be excited for him to have this break from his routine. Who knew, maybe absence would even make the heart grow fonder a bit, though this idea had an acrid taste to it. Should he really need for that to happen? Damn Larry for putting this into his head! Connor's life really wasn't very much to shout over, but this morning he had at least been content to live it.
These days of settling were soon enough to seem like a distant reminder of failure, but for now they remained an idea, albeit one which was missing a leg and onto which his definition of happiness was now leaning. Pulling up to the spacious apartment he and Audrey shared, Connor was exhausted. Thanks to Larry and how worked up all of this had made him, Connor sensed that a confrontation was coming and he knew from experience that he would be better to bury himself somewhere then to look Audrey in the eye. Many girlfriends knew when it was an appropriate moment to be gentle with, or supportive of, the one they loved. For some reason, Audrey would sniff this out as bait. She always went on the attack and then Connor, already feeling less than himself, would be forced to defend something that often hadn't seemed important until the moment that a fight had been made out of it.
Connor was no longer sure what was secure and what needed to and/or should be questioned. With this feeling of dismay hanging over his head, he walked pensively up to his front door.
"That you sweetie?" Audrey yelled from the kitchen before he could get through the entryway.
"Yep," Connor called back, all he could think of was getting off his feet. "Hey babe, what did you get up to tod...?"
"Hey, really glad you are here," Audrey interrupted. "Oh my gosh, so much to talk to you about. Are you OK? You look like you saw a ghost?"
"Yeah," been hearing a lot of that today, he thought before answering, "I'm great, what's that I sme..."
"So," Audrey cut in again, "I talked to Jules tonight, hey what's all that you're lugging? Book report?"
"Actually, this is what's going on with my day. Looks like I may be headed out of town for a conference."
"Oh, wow, well why didn't you say something?"
Connor had to bite his tongue, I've tried to, he thought, but then again, if he were now allowed to speak, better to not lose that chance pondering what clever retort he might toss at her only to then have to explain it anyway. "Well, there's a conference, pretty amazing stuff really, or at least Ken is pretty fired up about it. Hey, beats the fluorescents, right? So anyhow, they need me to go to Japan this weekend for a week or so, which is why all the studying. Nothing gigantic, but wow, must be pretty important if they are desperate enough to send a lowlife like me, eh? Ken feels that this new technology will really revolutionize some of the things which we use most actively. Seems it'll be a pretty cool opportunity to..."
Audrey stared into the distance. She hadn't heard a word he'd said.
Connor noticed and continued by employing an old trick that he and she used to tease one another, "… a pretty cool opportunity to see about that llama we've always wanted."
Audrey absently looked up as if to acknowledge that she had heard his attempt at humor, a humor that had once worked quite well upon her. Her eyes, however, looked like he had shined a flashlight directly into them.
"OK", Connor grimaced as he looked up at her; he hated the ensuing game, a counterbalancing of fishing and pandering, "what's up?"
"What do you mean? It's nothing."
"Aud, c'mon, you know that isn't true." This really was not what Connor had wanted to find himself facing within minutes of having arrived at home. "You are waiting for me to ask a few more times, OK, so here it is. What's up? Nothing. Are you sure? Yeah. Really? Well, OK, it's just that..."
"Oh stop!" Audrey startled Connor with a shrill shriek, "You are always the one in control, aren't you?!"
"What the, um, I will answer no," his voice trilled up as if asking a question, though he knew there was no answer. Audrey usually needed to work whatever it was out on her own, "I'm sorry babe, is it the travel? I've been away before."
"But this weekend was going to be different," Audrey responded with exaggerated despair. "You knew that."
The hairs on the back of his neck stood at full attention. He wondered what he had forgotten. Quickly, Connor ran down a checklist of the likely suspects. Anniversary? No. Birthday? No. Parents sick? Oh God, he thought. She would hang him for asking, but he didn't have a choice. "What was this weekend again?"
"Our couples date," Audrey replied with the utmost seriousness. "We were going to go out with Julie and Rick and grab a bite and then later maybe go bowling or to a movie."
"Honey," Connor had to catch himself from a chuckle, a chuckle that if not suppressed might very well have launched a thousand ships. Too late, it slipped anyways. "Honey, I mean yes, I was very much looking forward to that, but…"
"Were you?" she asked back sincerely.
"Was I?" he suddenly felt a bit lost.
"Looking forward to it?" Audrey finished her thought.
"Yeah," Connor suppressed another disbelieving gasp. "But honey, that isn't even the point, this is a really important thing for Ken. Furthermore, it is really nice that he even thought to ask."
"It's always your job," she answered back dismissively.
"It is?" Connor should have run, this wasn't going to end well and it was all becoming slow motion as he watched the crash coming into focus on the screen in his mind.
"We go out," she started listing examples in a nasally tone, "you watch the news from the booth, you read a paper with breakfast, and it's always about work."
Connor's job did reach into many different fields. Still, he considered her attack and decided, "No, that's not true. I don't carry work with me everywhere we go. Those things I notice and enjoy, yeah, I do that stuff, sure, but I really like those things."
"Well I don't, it is really starting to grate on me."
"Right," Connor started slowly, this delivery might hide or accentuate the fury building within him and he wasn't yet sure which potential to encourage, "but since that isn't the job, since those things are, in fact, me, you aren't offended by what I do at work, you are actually anti, you know, me."
"Don't turn this around, this was all because…"
"Right, couples night," Connor answered back in an admittedly unsympathetic tone.
"Don't say it that way," Audrey pleaded.
"Honey, God, um, Audrey," Connor fumbled for the right approach, "I'm sorry, I know this was something very important to you and that you wanted it to be very important to us. I want you to understand that it would have been the most important thing to me, too, but this unique opportunity that is exciting for me and frankly, should be for us as well has come up."
She was gone again, staring across the room at nothing in particular. To leave the room would cause another attack. Connor's only option was to remain there with her, but to avoid any conversation. This meant, frustratingly, an evening of doing nothing of substance, for at this stage, a paper, the news, his briefcase, any of it would denote that he was once again choosing something over her needs. In times past, this time spent sitting on the runway may have found Connor deciding whether or not he should cave, if there was any advantage to giving in now, especially if he knew he would have to later, but tonight was different. Maybe it was the sense of something new on the horizon or this gauntlet that Larry had thrown down, but surrender didn't seem appealing. Connor figured that he should just go to Japan and take this opportunity for a change of scenery. Perhaps after the fact, Audrey would see why this had been worth missing a couples' night over and why this was an idiotic debate to have had in the first place.
"Honey," he may as well have loaded a gun or produced a racy photo of one of Audrey's sisters, "I'm really sorry, but since you know I have to do this, I should get some sleep and at least look at some of the things Ken will have expected me to have read through before tomorrow." Connor turned and started to make his way to the bedroom, so long as she would just stare at the back of his head, this could all rest for the evening and who knows, maybe even die down.
"See?" It appeared that this was a concession which Audrey was unwilling to grant. "He will have expected you to have done it. He doesn't respect you. Why else would he have expected..."
Before he could even think, Connor's vision blurred as he bitingly snapped off the end of her sentence and shot back at her, "Sweetie! Why else would he have expected that the woman I love and who says she loves me would have rejoiced over this fantastic opportunity that could also mean exposure and career advancement? Why would she have supported me, maybe been saddened about my being away, but realized that it was for the greater good? I'm not sure. That Ken, he is pretty insane sometimes! How dare he even think for a second that..."
"Just go to bed." Audrey cut him off, tears streaming from her eyes.
Connor stood dejectedly. His fingers shook with adrenaline, though his will was bending with her every quiver nonetheless. He steadfastly walked back down the hall and sternly closed the door to their room.
That evening, it seemed that Connor almost went out to see Audrey nearly as many times as she almost came in to ask him to talk. In the end however, they were frozen in place like two aged boxers, too tired from the accumulated damage of years spent in the ring to even answer the bell. They sat on their stools, eying each other across the expanse of canvas which was for now separated by a door which may as well have been made of impenetrable iron. Connor slumped over on the bed; he was tired of this fight. There would be, he had often thought, no problem rising to this challenge save for one fact: this was the woman he loved, or whom he had loved. No! He rebuked himself for even allowing that thought. He couldn't even entertain that possible distinction for he knew that as soon as he allowed himself to consider this being over, it already was. He had to stay focused on not thinking that way. As much as it fulfilled Audrey's earlier prediction, Connor sought, as he so often did, refuge in his work.
