The Overlap (16 page)

But before then I wanted to make sure there was no chance of Dave Evers intercepting me and handing me that stack of papers I had worried about earlier in the day, or giving me some assignment that had to be done by tomorrow morning, or anything along those lines. I not only had the ringer off on my phone, I shut off the vibrate until I was outside. I didn’t check my e-mail or anything like that. Basically, I was in escape mode, and as soon as I stepped onto North Beverly Drive and after a half block turned onto Wilshire Boulevard, now only steps away from
Cerise
, I breathed a sigh of relief that yes indeed, I had made a successful escape!

Also, as I was zigging and zagging off of our floor at MetroGen and down the elevator and out the lobby, I had a sudden thought for how I might handle this weekend with Dustin coming home: get Dave Evers to assign me to some short-term project out of town for the weekend that was in trouble and could use my help (and billable hours) over the weekend to help out; sort of like with Dustin’s project out in Chicago the past couple of weekends. I could suck up to Dave Evers (oooh, gross images!) and make up some bullshit story about wanting to help out as much as I could and all that. Honestly, I was certain he would buy it. It was worth a thought...

Anyway, I slipped into
Cerise
and instantly spotted Zack.

*     *     *

“Wow!” was Zack’s one-word reply when I finished the abbreviated version of what was going on with Dave Evers, with the epicenter being his off-the-wall text message.

“You’re probably right,” he continued. “People like him hate when someone intelligent is around when they do something really stupid like that New York trip. It’s like he wants to get rid of the witnesses, you know? Especially with his partnership being considered in less than two months, what he did is almost a kiss of death. So even if he’s not doing it consciously, he is subconsciously trying to discredit and diminish you.”

Zack went on for another minute or so, philosophizing over what he thought was going on inside Dave’s head, and again I found myself impressed by what he knew and what he said. I could easily see him on the fast track at our firm, or any of the other big consulting firms that recruited at ASU, one of the first in his year group to make partner. He wasn’t only “L.A. sexy” but unless I was
totally
naïve, he wasn’t a world-class bullshitter and scammer;  he was the real thing. I didn’t know that much about him yet, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t some 29-year old billionaire or multi-millionaire. I had been to his apartment and while it was nice, it was still the typical L.A. older building apartment. Expensive – pretty much everything in L.A. is – but if he had a gazillion dollars, I would have expected a house in Bel Air or Malibu; something like that.

But he did have his successful one-person firm with a waiting list of clients, and even more important, he seemed to be the master of his own destiny, at least professionally. He was in a position where if someone like Dave Evers crossed his path, Zack could just walk away and move on; he didn’t need to put up with unfounded, off-the-wall texts like the one I got from Dave this afternoon.

Plus Zack was very insightful and knowledgeable about the politics inside consulting firms such as mine, which I found surprising considering that he told me his experience in a larger firm constituted exactly one year. Still, I could already tell that he was the kind of guy whom I could go to with problems such as this one with Dave Evers and he could not only get to the heart of the problem, he would also give me sound advice on what to do.

And in this particular case:

“Lindsey, just ride it out,” he said as he finished one of the same orangey beers he had been drinking when I met him for the first time right in this very place... one week ago almost to the minute, I realized as I listened to him. “Even with what looks like the start of a smear campaign against you, I think this New York deal doomed him for partner, if he wasn’t already out of contention.”

The waitress came to take our refill orders – another beer for Zack, another fresh raspberry martini for me – and when she left, he looked at me.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but in your opinion what is the biggest mistake he made with this New York thing?”

I didn’t even hesitate.

“What we found out this morning, about Margie not approving any hours at all before he sent four of us off to SoHo and we each lost three billable days.”

Zack smiled.

“You got it,” he said. “The whole thing was stupid but as soon as word gets back to your partner that he didn’t first clear the hours with MetroGen, he’s a dead man walking.”

“I’ll take
Consulting Stupidity
for $200, please,” I laughed. After such a shitty day – at least from the time I showed up at MetroGen – I was suddenly in a much better mood. The waitress returned with our drinks, and after she left I looked at Zack and said:

“Is it bad karma to toast to someone else’s bad fortunes? You know, like Evers getting passed over for partner and then packaged out?”

He answered quickly.

“Actually, I think it is; sorry,” he said.

“But I have an idea,” he added as he raised his glass, with mine following his.

“To the return of peace and contentment to you during your workday,
however
that may occur,” Zack proposed, his words dripping with undertones.

I couldn’t help my sort-of-mean-spirited smirk as I chimed in with “hear hear!”

Silence followed for about thirty seconds as we both sensed a shift away from me bitching about my job, but then I peered at Zack with a serious look on my face and said:

“I need to tell you something, okay?

Zack raised his eyebrows.

“Sure,” he said, but the light smile that had been on his lips while we had locked eyes following our toast vanished.

“So here’s the thing,” I began. “You’re leaving for San Francisco tomorrow...”

I hesitated. Then hesitated some more. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words!

“...and your boyfriend is coming back to L.A.?” Zack
knew
where I was going, even though he finished my sentence with his voice rising a bit, as if he were asking a question.

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper... but still making sure I locked gazes with him as I confirmed what he had already guessed.

“But I’m going to break up with him!” I blurted out quickly, my voice picking up notes of confidence. Or so I hoped, though to me I could sense uncertainty – just a touch – in my proclamation.

Zack looked down at his beer for a second, took a drink, and then back at me.

“Okay,” he said, nodding, and then taking another drink of his beer.

Nothing more.

No asking me if I was really serious. No asking me how I was going to do it, or the specifics of when: as soon as I saw Dustin, or after I worked up the nerve to give him the bad news.

And definitely not asking me if I thought any bittersweet, one-last-time sex would be part of the elongated breakup scene.

He just let it go. I wished so much I could read Zack’s mind at this very minute. Was he taking me at my word that I would take care of the nasty business, then cry myself through the weekend while he was in San Francisco and then we would start next week with a clean slate? I mean, that’s almost exactly what Kensington had said to me during lunch earlier today; maybe Zack was on exactly that same wavelength, figuring that the fates had called him out of town and were sending Dustin back to L.A. so I could do what had to be done. Zack wouldn’t be alone in his apartment or out with friends maybe only a block or two from where I was breaking the news to Dustin. He would be at his conference, almost 400 miles away from here, probably chatting with colleagues or new prospective clients over drinks or at dinner. His mind would be preoccupied all weekend by his own business at hand and when he was done, so too would be my relationship with Dustin.

*     *     *

We decided to stay put at
Cerise
for dinner, and in fact remained right in the bar rather than heading off for one of the dinner tables in the smaller part of the place. Zack found a couple of barstools to pull up to the high-top where we had been standing and talking, and we both ordered fish tacos, supposedly one of their specialties. I switched from drinking Cosmos (two so far) to the same orangey beer that Zack was drinking, and found that I really liked it.

Zack seemed to be doing his utmost to steer our conversation away from this weekend, Dustin, San Francisco, Dave Evers, MetroGen... all of that. He also seemed to be doing his best to take me back into that magical feeling when we met right here one week ago, as well as our dinner dates at both
Vivant
and
Solazarse
. At one point, when his third beer and my first finally showed up (
Cerise
was extra-crowded tonight; way busier than last Thursday) he raised his glass – and his eyebrows in that mischievous way some guys do – and in a smooth, seductive voice offered his toast: “To the Trojans and the ‘Cocks!” I couldn’t help it; a huge smile broke out on my face while my brain instantly started showing me a mental movie of selected highlights from last night in Zack’s bed. I swear I could almost feel my three orgasms all over again, sitting right here at this high-top table.

Basically Zack seemed to be making extra effort to put me into a good frame of mind for tonight so we would enjoy this evening together, even though I had this unpleasant business waiting for me sometime over the weekend... and it worked. By the time we had finished our dinner and each had one final beer, I was feeling much as I had 24 hours earlier when we were finishing up dinner at
Solazarse
, both of us knowing that we would soon wind up in bed together.

And that’s exactly what happened this Thursday night. Usually during my second time having sex with a guy (one-night stands excepted, of course) I start to get a bit more adventurous, and tonight with Zack was no exception. We had just arrived at his apartment, passionately kissing right inside his door the same as last night, but this time I reached down and undid his belt buckle and dropped his pants and underwear right there in the living room, and then eased myself to my knees, still fully clothed, as I moved my mouth towards him.

Zack must have thought this scene was as hot as I did because he only lasted about two minutes, and I couldn’t help but luxuriate in wicked self-satisfaction that he couldn’t hold back any longer than that. He then undressed me right there in the hallway, steered me over to the living room couch, and proceeded to return the favor. I didn’t last any longer than he had, and in fact quickly came a second time less than a minute later since he kept going after my first orgasm.

We finally headed into his bedroom where we spent the next two hours satisfying each other – and ourselves – pretty much non-stop. We had sex three times, the last time slow and almost in slow motion, and just before I fell asleep Zack said to me that I was “absolutely the most amazing woman.”

What a roller-coaster day.

About ten years ago, when I was in seventh grade, I started having one sore throat after another. In Phoenix, unlike cold-weather areas of the country, a long string of sore throats all winter isn’t that common, so my parents started getting concerned. My mom took me to the doctor, who solemnly pronounced that it was time for my tonsils to come out. I had been lucky throughout grade school when nearly every one of my classmates had a tonsillectomy at some point yet that fate never befell me; but apparently my luck had run out.

My surgery was scheduled for a Wednesday, I remember. Because the hospital squeezed me in on short notice into a cancellation slot, I wouldn’t actually be wheeled into the operating room until 3:30 that afternoon; the last surgery my doctor would perform that day. So instead of my parents bringing me to the hospital very early in the morning, they were told I wasn’t to show up until 1:30 when a pre-op room bed was scheduled to be freed up.

Until then, I was to remain at home – no eating or drinking because of the anesthesia – and just wait. I remember waking up at 5:30 that morning, unable to eat breakfast, and just wandering around the house, unable to sit still as wave after wave of anxiety washed over me. The morning passed at quarter speed. Lunchtime came, but no lunch; just a half hour of fresh waves of panicky apprehension. Then another hour ticked slowly by before I finally was loaded into my parents’ car for the longest fifteen-minute drive of my entire life.

Then, after registering with the hospital, I endured another two hours of panic attacks as I had to fight the urge to flee the hospital room when my parents weren’t looking, all the while pathologically fearful of the surgery and painful aftermath that I knew was waiting for me.

That’s
what this Friday felt like.

*     *     *

The minutes ticked by at quarter-speed at work. Zack was already gone for San Francisco; he left his apartment for LAX at the same time I left for my own apartment. Since he had to shower and get dressed before catching his flight I took the time this Friday morning, unlike yesterday morning, to shower at his place... together with him, of course; our first shower together. Even though the undertones of his trip and Dustin’s impending return resurfaced this morning, I still immensely enjoyed showering with him including – big surprise – our first shower sex with me pressed up against the chilly tile wall and the sensations of that coldness juxtaposed with Zack’s warm body and hardness pressing into me from behind, the hot water erotically washing over both of us the whole time.

Even though he helped me come after he was satisfied, and even though I had come four times the night before between what he did to me on his living room couch and then later in his bedroom, I left his apartment feeling... I don’t know, still not completely satisfied. During the cab ride home, though, I decided that my uneasiness or restlessness or whatever it was didn’t have anything to do with me not being physically satiated. Instead, it was more like when I was doing something,
anything
, sexual with Zack last night or this morning – whether right inside his doorway or on the couch in his living room, or in his bed or in the shower – I didn’t give one thought to Zack’s San Francisco trip or Dustin returning or anything like that. I felt like I was in some sort of sex cocoon with Zack, safely encapsulated away from the troubles on multiple fronts that were out there waiting for me today and through the weekend. But outside that sex cocoon there was no escaping what was ahead of me...