2. Heraklion
Perhaps to both their surprise, Ben was indeed to be found in Greece at the appointed time and place. The four lions of the great fountain sputtered steadily, fed by underground ducts, regal stone eyes observing a square where once both Doge and drudge carried on their business. Much like their encounter in London, he was lost in thought, observing the stone amidst tourist flashes of light, when Meredith found him.
"You've been here before, I take it."
Ben looked away from the glorious carving to look at her. "Greece, yes. Not here. Never been. Yourself?"
"No. Some of Crete, long time ago. Flown here on... well, business." A little shrug. "Suppose that's a side benefit. I've done a lot of travel. Still do."
"A lot. Does any place feel like home?"
She looked at him abruptly, startled by the question. "Well, Amsterdam, I suppose..."
"That's your business, not necessarily your home."
"We're off to an astute start." Her reply came out sharper than she meant and she softened it with a wry smile.
"Never mind, then." His lips pursed.
"You're in quite the mood."
"Business," he replied shortly. He shook his head. "Sorry. Yes. I have an associate I've been dealing with."
"Not your favorite person, I'm guessing." She crossed her arms and stood next to him, examining the fountain with a clinical eye.
"For a... variety of reasons. To be fair, he would say much the same about me." He shrugged. "But that's the nature of things. Drink?"
"Excellent idea."
* * *
Meredith finished her glass of wine and set the empty flute down with a soft clink! A waiter glided by and deftly replaced it with a fresh one. With a flip of her head, the neat ponytail switched shoulders. "I'll be honest, I really didn't expect you to show up. I was surprised when I got off the ferry and spotted you right away."
"I had time, was relatively local, harms nothing." In truth, Ben had considered it (agonized) from several different angles, most of them concluding that he shouldn't bother and that it was either a waste of time or a risk he didn't need. The final contemplation had born the stamp of a thousand wise old philosophers who had summarized their wisdom into the simple phrase fuck it, why not? It was not lost on him that this was the same philosophy used by the frequently undereducated and drunk men that saw their exploits (if they survived) end up on Youtube.
That and funny videos of cats. Off island society was not entirely lost on him. He did prefer to ignore much of it when he could, however.
"Damned by faint praise. Nearly edged out by subtitled sitcom reruns on the hotel cable." She saluted him with her glass and drank half of it.
"I didn't mean it like that." His face crinkled, a surprisingly childish expression of hurt. "I just... I don't wander off and do things aimlessly very often."
"You didn't upset me. I thought it was funny." Meredith gave him a reassuring smile, going so far as to reach across the table and pat his arm. He tried not to recoil at the surprise contact, but a wince slid by despite him. She paused, but drew back without remarking on it.
"So, business sucks, you hate your coworkers... sounds relatively normal, really."
"Business is always mundane to the people directly involved."
"But what do you do?"
He looked down at the table, not meeting her eyes. He swirled wine around his glass. It would be easy to lie, preferential even. His credentials bore the Mittelos brand. "I've been thinking about that. Everyone does the same thing, really. We sell ourselves out for some cause we think will fulfill us in some way."
"So, not a cubicle farm." He glanced up at the sardonic tone. "Hey, I've heard the 'we're all whores' thing before, too." She shrugged. "It's a philosophy, not an inaccurate one, but it's also generic as hell. I had some kid – no shit, true story – send me a copy of her thesis for her grad philosophy course to get some extra gravitas on it. A real hooker to weigh in on how we all sell out to God Money or whatever."
He was quiet for a long time, a little bruised in the intellectual ego, but he saw the point. Finally: "Did she get a decent grade?"
That drew a real laugh and he felt slightly better. "She did, actually, after I tried to be very gentle and suggest she might want to rework her theme a bit." She closed her eyes and drooped her head a little. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to poke holes in every sailboat here. I try to get people to talk about themselves because I get tired of retreading the same things. I know – because you're not a client – that you're being polite and thoughtful, but we get it all the time from guys who think they're trying to connect with us. The ones that want to. After a while, the ones that don't talk are better. I'm more interested in other people's stories. It's a defensive thing."
"I can't... I don't really want to talk about what I do." That didn't feel right, either. He sighed. "It makes no sense out of context in a rational world and it has the side effect of potentially causing you trouble."
She looked at him curiously. "I don't care about trouble. Try this one, then – what would an observer describe what it is you do?"
His mouth quirked in deliberate self-awareness. "Professional asshole."
She stared at him for a moment, then lost herself in a wild giggle. "Come on, seriously?"
"It makes more sense than 'vaguely dictatorial gopher of an unseen boss.'" He drawled the words, surprised in himself for saying it.
"Still just sounds like you work for a CEO that's on vacation all the time. Bitter about it?"
"God, you could say." He finished his wine and leaned in. "It's like this, I do what I do because I'm told to, or I interpret orders as best as I can, never quite knowing if I'm doing it right or wrong because I never get word back. Ever. I've never even seen the son of a bitch." The words came out with a sudden heat and he flushed, sitting back. The waiter came by and gave him a new glass. His fourth. The fuck it voice would be singing Irish pub songs before too long while the more rational faction of his brain was going to be going home with a sick hangover and a warm towel.
"So, why not just quit?" She gestured expansively. "Tell whatever supervisors you do have hanging around to shove it, take your severance and get going?"
Ben's mouth opened, then closed again. Another curiously childish expression passed across his face. He looked lost. Abandoned child flashed across Meredith's mind and her jaw tensed in sympathy. "I can't. Wait, that's too simple." The forlorn look remained. "Sometimes we do things because we hope at the end that someone will say one kind thing. Like we're willing to tear ourselves up for one moment of approval so we'll do anything to get there. Like we want... love?
"Does that make any sense to you?" He tilted his head and looked at her, blue eyes narrowed in personal contemplation.
She looked back at him, her face sober, understanding, and more than a little sad. "Honey, I'm a whore."