The Black & The White (16 page)

“
Or does he have an extra
credit card he gives to his girlfriend?” Kim said.

“
Would you stop, Kim?” I
said.

“
You could have stopped
after the first two,” Kim said as she waved to the waiter for
another bottle of wine. “We’re going to need to consume more
alcohol, ladies.”

“
This is depressing,” Carin
confessed. “How could I have not known? I’m thirty, ahem”—she hated
admitting her age—”and it feels like I am so new at this dating
bullshit.”

“
I’m telling you. Cosmo is
the bible!” said Kim.

Thanks to Kim’s indulgence, we were
all drunk by the end of the dinner.

Dinner lasted longer than normal, and
I still had to catch a cab back to Queens. We all said our
farewells outside. I gave Kim a kiss on the cheek. She was
expecting two.

“
One kiss? Oh, come on,
Isabelle.” Kim grabbed my cheeks. “Two kisses, baby. The European
way. The American way is so passé!”

I flagged a cab and kissed Carin the
way Kim had taught me. Kim noticed and winked.

“
You just need to move into
the city. You’re not B&T, so get your ass out of the sticks and
move already,” Kim said.

B&T stood for bridge and tunnel,
and referred to those who lived outside of Manhattan and commuted
to the city to party on weekends. B&T implied gum-chomping and
big-haired with caked-on makeup.

“
I can’t afford it, Kim. Not
everyone has a sugar daddy,” I said, looking at Carin and then back
at Kim.

• • •

I called Carin at work the next
morning and immediately began talking to her about my guilt over
kissing Peter.

“
But, I mean, he’s married!”
I said.

“
Okay. Meet me at the
elevator in five to get coffee and discuss.”

“
Isabelle, kissing?” Andrew
said. He had obviously overheard me. His acute hearing was
impressive, more so than his multi-tasking ability.

“
No,” I said. I was worried
that he had heard me say “he’s married.”

“
If you’re wearing shirts
like that,” Andrew reached across and opened up my jacket, “you’re
going to get kissed.”

I pushed his hands away from my body.
I wanted to slap him across his face, but instead I continued to
watch the market oscillate between positive and negative gains. I
looked down at my outfit to see if he was right. Was I dressed
inappropriately? I concluded that there was nothing revealing about
my outfit.

“
Your boobs have grown. Are
you pregnant or do you have your period?” Andrew said.

I didn’t know how to react. I wanted
to say Asshole but restrained myself.

On that early Friday afternoon, I
received an email from Stephen asking to meet for margaritas at the
restaurant in the MOMA.

It was a slow day in the markets and
many people in the office were planning to leave early.

Recently, each time Stephen’s name
appeared in my inbox, my heart would race. I found myself counting
the hours between his messages, often reading them over throughout
the day to pass time. I was torn between annoyed and excited.
Annoyed I felt that way and excited that he wrote. I knew I was
trying to suppress my feelings for him because he was married. I
knew it was wrong but at this instance, my heart won over my
head.

“
Sounds good,” I wrote. In
my time as an assistant trader, my messages had become curt and
succinct to everyone. It was the nature of working on the trading
floor – to communicate the message in the least amount of time.
Time was money.

“
Perfecto, chica. Hasta la
vista,” Stephen responded immediately before sending through
another message

“
It’s about time you agreed
to my offers. Let’s just go for fifteen minutes, and then we’ll get
margaritas. I’ve been waiting for three months to see
it.”

I found myself smiling at my computer,
nearly forgetting Andrew’s offensiveness.

Working as a trader on a dealer desk
was like any client-related job—whatever the client wanted, the
client got. As a client, Stephen was easy.

The MOMA was exhibiting the Kirschner
“Berlin Street Scenes” series.

Stephen, maneuvered us to exactly
where we needed to be on the third floor.

“
Come here often?” I
joked.

“
Shhh. Sometimes I tell my
office I’m at a meeting, but I’m actually here. No one bothers me
here.” He laughed as though he had just revealed a big secret or a
peek into his true self.

Many of the MOMA visitors walked
around with audio players glued to their ears. But I had Stephen as
my personal curator.

“
This is Kirchner,” Stephen
gestured to the series of colorfully depicted oil-painted
figurines. “Kirchner started the Die Brücke group in Germany. These
Expressionist artists were heavily influenced by Nietzsche. The
philosopher.”

“
Duh. I know
Nietzche.”

He smiled then continued. “I think
Kirchner studied as an architect. But don’t quote me on that.” We
walked while he talked me through the exhibit. “Each of these men
of the Die Brücke were bourgeois bohemians. Rich pretending to be
poor. They were going against convention. Radicals and free
thinkers.” Then he pointed at another painting.

“
You see here. This is one
of the more famous ones of Kirchners’s. It’s called The Five Women
on the Street. They’re prostitutes.”

“
Streetwalkers?”

“
Exactly. There were a lot
of them during the time he painted it. He actually painted it to
make fun of German high society. There really is artificiality to
money, isn’t there?”

Stephen paused to think. I remained
silent during his pensiveness. “You notice the contradictions he is
trying to communicate?” I didn’t respond knowing there would be a
forthcoming explanation. “Not everything is as you see it,
Isabelle. Excesses of modern life sometimes come with its perils.
You can see it in the way the prostitutes are painted. History
repeats itself. Glamour and decadence can be really lonely and
dangerous.”

He explained this as though he was
talking about something more than just the art in front of him. He
talked as though he was thinking about his own life. “Large brush
strokes. Violently bright colors. Bold lines. It’s not a style for
everyone. It’s probably why the Nazis burned about six hundred of
his paintings. He killed himself shortly after that.” He paused
again. “Like I said, lonely and dangerous.”

I could tell Stephen was getting
emotional. He seemed to be holding something in.

“
Margaritas?” he asked, and
I nodded. He reached for my hand and kissed it. “Thanks for coming
here with me. Means a lot.” He smiled.

His warmth took me aback. So he wasn’t
always that goofy guy he came off to be. I started to wonder how
much of his joviality was just an act – like tears from a
clown.

We headed to the Biltmore Room for
cocktails. Andrew had been trying to get ahold of Stephen for the
forty-five minutes, but Stephen had ignored each of his
calls.

“
I guess Andrew has been
waiting for us. Bastard.” Stephen laughed.

“
Waiting for us?”

“
Ooops. I forgot to
mention.”

Andrew had invited himself to have
drinks. He was waiting for us to tell him where we were going after
our museum meet-up. I was not happy about him joining.

When we got to the restaurant, I
looked around for Jeffrey. Stephen headed to the toilet.

The bartender told me that he hadn’t
been in yet. “He’ll be in soon. I can call him if you want,” he
suggested.

“
No need. I will call him
later.” The bartender grinned at me like he knew a
secret.

Stephen suddenly appeared. “You’re not
looking for that fucking loser are you? Come on! Not when I’m
here.” Within moments Andrew arrives. Stephen called him and told
him where we were. I was slightly annoyed at him.

It wasn’t long after we arrived that I
felt an arm around my waist. It was Jeffrey. He gave me a kiss on
each cheek. “Hey, pretty girl. I heard you were here. I tried
calling you the other day.” I looked at the bartender who shrugged
his shoulders, smiled, and continued to shake his
cocktail.

I reintroduced Andrew and Stephen.
They cordially greeted each other.

“
Hey, by the way, I’m
heading to the Hamptons again this weekend. Are you there with
Kim?” Jeffrey asked. I shook my head.

“
That’s too bad. I was
looking forward to a pool-side chat again.”

Thinking back to that night made me
wonder why I hadn’t just kissed him when I had the
chance.

“
If you’re ever out there
even when I am not feel free to crash at my house any time. No one
is ever there and I like to keep it that way,” Jeffrey said.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got to go downstairs to run the inventory real
quick, but don’t leave without first saying goodbye.”

Jeffrey motioned to the bartender for
a free round of drinks and then waved goodbye to both Stephen and
Andrew before making his way through the crowd. As he walked to the
back of the restaurant, he stopped to talk to bar patrons. I
watched him smiling and charming his customers.

Stephen noticed me as I watched
Jeffrey walk away. “I’m going to fucking kill that guy,” Stephen
said to Andrew. “And I’m not kidding.”

“
Oh hush,” I said to
Stephen.

Andrew and I had our third margarita
on the rocks. Stephen was on his fifth.

“
He’s nice,” I
said.

There was something so empowering
about seeing Stephen, the bank’s largest client, this
envious.

“
I’m a better kisser than
him anyway.” Suddenly, he reached across Andrew, opened his mouth
and pretended he was going to kiss me. I turned away. Andrew
laughed.

“
She’ll kiss me before she
kisses you. With me, she has no choice. I pay her bonus,” Andrew
said.

“
No fucking way!” Stephen
argued. “Okay, Isabelle, between Andrew and myself, who would you
rather kiss?” Stephen asked. He was serious.

I looked at both of them.

“
Dude! Stop thinking! It
should be obvious to you. Me! Me! Me!” Stephen laughed and puckered
his lips. I rolled my eyes and smiled. I didn’t like the
game.

“
Actually, neither one of
you. I choose Jeffrey. He’s not married,” I said.

At around nine o’clock, Andrew and
Stephen started getting ready to go.

“
Here, take this car
voucher. Call yourself a car. Don’t ride a subway tonight,” Andrew
said to me.

I smiled and said thank you, despite
his earlier sexual innuendos and flirtatiousness. Although Andrew’s
off-color jokes verged on being a Human Resources violation, I
thought he genuinely was concerned for my well-being and
happiness.

“
Dude, you’re so cheap! Get
the girl her own account, at least,” Stephen said. He reached for a
bar napkin and jotted down a number. “Call this number anytime you
need a ride home. Tell Joe, the driver, it’s on my account and
he’ll take care of you.”

Jeffrey, who had been busy working all
night, came back to our group. Stephen didn’t acknowledge
him.

“
Glad you guys are still
here. Have you guys eaten yet?” Jeffrey asked.

“
No, they are just leaving,”
I said. I gestured for both of them to go.

“
Bye.” Stephen kissed me on
both cheeks. “More fun soon?” He didn’t say goodbye to
Jeffrey.

“
Finance guys?” Jeffrey
asked after they had left.

I nodded.

“
One is my boss and the
other a client.” I smirked as I thought about how competitive men
were.

“
Working in the restaurant
business, you see a lot of things.”

“
Yeah, you
mentioned.”

“
My restaurant is busier on
the 13th of February than the 14th . Can you guess why?”

“
No way! Why?”

“
Because the day before
Valentine’s Day, these guys take out their mistresses. The wives go
out on the 14th.”

“
All of their mistresses,
plural?” I asked.

“
Yes, plural.” Jeffrey told
me of a story of how he was once asked by a customer to distract
the second mistress at the bar while he, the customer, was saying
goodbye to the first one and getting her to leave. “The guy had two
girls come in one after the other. He was a good customer, so we
had to accommodate. It was funny and sad at the same
time.”

Fried calamari, french fries with
fondue sauce, and sliders arrived at our table.

“
Um. I don’t think I ordered
this,” I said.

“
I did. There are perks to
owning your own restaurant. You get free food.” Jeffrey smiled.
“Here.” He pierced the calamari with his fork and fed me. “Consider
this me taking you out to dinner,” Jeffrey said.