Chapter 31…Games Afoot…
"Ms. Thomas, Julie, said to put you here, for now, maybe permanently, who knows?" Wendy, the harried personnel assistant says, as she ushers me in a small empty office at the very end of a nearly-empty corridor on the second floor, down the hall from where I originally interviewed. "It's crazy today. We're all dealing with multiple issues and Julie hopes to be done in an hour or so. In the meantime, here's some paperwork to fill out and sign and then, when you're done, you can…uh… read this, and someone will be back to…uh…get you soon." After placing the paperwork and huge tome on the desk, she scurries out.
I pick up the paper on top, a company non-disclosure agreement. Seems pretty straightforward. I sign it and delve into the rest of the small stack of emergency contact info and tax forms and the like. I'm done with this in all of ten minutes. I open the massive notebook Wendy left. It's a Falk company policy manual whose cover is made to look like an old ship's log—more kitschy mariner stuff. I flip through it. It's dry as dirt, written in corporate-speak, a language I'm not well-versed in.
I took several business courses at school, but never thought I would actually work in any kind of corporate job. Truth be told, I never really thought about what I would do after college. Every single one of my Stanford friends and acquaintances could happily rattle off exactly what they were going to do post-graduation—"Environmental public policy, China," "Pre-med, but I'll move in to Otolaryngology, to take over my mom's practice eventually," "Corporate finance—I want to fund new tech start-ups," "International relations with a specialty in African Studies, so I can promote…" I just never got that far. The sum total of my plan was always this: excel in school. When you start a university like Stanford at barely sixteen-years-old and answer the often-asked question of what you want to do after college with, I don't know, you might as well say, I hope to pollute as much drinking water as possible in at-risk communities around the world, for all the looks of horror you'll get. I actually said that one time as a joke to some environmental engineering students and it went over better than my usual answer. I eventually learned to become a master at changing that particular subject.
But if I did think about it, my answer certainly would not be to work in a huge multi-billion-dollar corporation whose huge policy book could probably be translated into three little letters—C, Y, and A.
I'm grateful to have this job, though, even if Henry seems to be taken care of right now. I still need to pay off his Rehab bill and prepare for what comes after his stay at the neuroscience center. I need to be diligent.
But surely that diligence doesn't mean I have to read this whole thing right now.
Instead, I look through the desk drawers. Nothing, not even a pencil. In the last drawer I open though, the lower one, there's a rectangular box, about the size of a loaf of bread. I start to slide the drawer closed again, thinking this was an item accidentally left by this office's last inhabitant. But something about it catches my eye. I open the drawer wider.
I peer at it for a full minute before I tentatively reach down, touching the familiar blue ribbon and jute string attached to the top of it. Feeling half like an interloper, I lift off the box top and unfurl the clouds of white tissue paper.
I break out in a huge smile at what I uncover.
Inside is my shoe—the shoe from the elevator, that I thought was forever lost, irretrievably broken—with the heel firmly re-attached. It is absolutely perfect. I lift out the second thing. Nestled in the shoe is a baby pumpkin, with a kind of gift tag tied around the stem with more blue ribbon. One side of it reads, Lucinda 'rella' Grace, in his beautiful script. I turn it over to see one simple sentence.
My arms were made for catching you. –Your P.C.
P.C.?
P.C.?
Then I know…P.C.—Prince Charming.
My Prince Charming.
And I die from love all over again.
For the last quarter of an hour, I've been staring at the open Falk Atlantic Shipping and Investments Corporate Policy and Procedures tome, but not seeing it. Then my eyes move back to the contents of the open lower drawer as thoughts and questions run through my mind. Where did he find a pumpkin in May? How did he put this together so quickly and even know where I was going to be? Wendy, the personnel assistant, wasn't sure until the last minute. And mostly, how did he find the heel on my shoe to get it fixed? It fell down the damn elevator shaft!
It is all so sweet and caring. Every thought, every glance at the box makes me grin anew. I carefully wrap the shoe and pumpkin back in the tissue then put the lid back on the box, exactly as I found it.
This is the second note I've gotten today from Leif, no…Vince—I have to remember that. Vince. My P.C. I awoke this morning at seven to the sound of ocean waves. It was the alarm clock set to make that soothing sound, rather than an obnoxious beep. There was a note on Leif'spillow.
For your first day, a carriage will await you at eight-fifteen. –Leif, it read. And then, P.S. Watching you sleep is the stuff of fairy tales.
Reading that, I was mad at myself for falling asleep at all. What did I miss? I did wake up intermittently throughout the night, thinking I felt a hand on my cheek, or in my hair, but when I looked at Leif with the little stream of light coming through the window, his eyes were always closed, his hand at his side, his breathing always even, his heartbeat steady. I must've dreamt those caresses. I would drift back to sleep on a delicate wave of peace and warmth.
After getting ready, I went downstairs at eight-fifteen to find a car waiting to take me to work. The driver wouldn't even accept a tip from me.
I shiver at his thoughtfulness. And then smile. Then smile some more.
"I've never actually seen anyone make that expression while reading the Falk Policy and Procedures book." This, I realize, was said in Spanish. I look up to see Roddy, the mailroom guy I met when I interviewed. "The only thing even remotely funny in there is the sexual harassment policy. And maybe the chapter on non-fraternization."
"I was just reading, 'The health and safety of the Falk Atlantic Shipping and Investments employees are of the upmost importance.' I thought that was absolutely fascinating," I reply in Spanish, while surreptitiously sliding the lower drawer shut with my leg.
"Uh huh. Sure it is. Hey, I've been told to come get you for our ten o'clock meeting." He walks in the office. "But there's some time beforehand if you'd like a quick tour of the New York office."
Roddy starts the tour on the fourth floor, bypassing the executive upper floors.
He explains along the way, "This is the corporate headquarters, and there's a small office in Red Hook—that's Brooklyn—but the real action happens in our Elizabeth, New Jersey office. Those are both next to the ports where our ships come in. This really just houses the investment and trading arm of the company, since it's so close to Wall Street. All of us interns will cycle between the three metro offices. We also have operations offices in port cities around the U.S. and the world."
Roddy leads me through an open room.
"This is our trading floor," he says over the din of what seems like a hundred, but it's really probably only a couple dozen men of all ages at messy paper-strewn desks, seemingly all shouting on the phone. We walk along the periphery and are nearly to the other side of it, when I spot Vick watching us from one of the desks. He hangs up his phone and comes over.
"Ellawyn! I was hoping I'd see you today!" He's in a sharp suit and tie this time, still looking all confident wealth and good grooming. He shakes my hand, flashing his perfect gleaming smile.
"Roddy was just giving me a tour of the Manhattan office."
He eyes Roddy, "I've got it from here," he commands, waiting until Roddy finally shrugs, then walks back out of the room.
Um…okay.
"I preside over this madhouse for another couple weeks when I'm moving to our private investment department on the other side of the fourth floor. My father is big on me getting experience in all facets of the company since I'll eventually be running it," Vick explains, leaning close to be heard over the cacophony. "Come on, I'll show you that department. It's quieter there and we can talk." He puts his hand on the small of my back, which makes me mildly uncomfortable—people are watching—as he leads me to another part of the fourth floor that is all plush and quiet, asking me questions about my new job along the way.
When we pass one office a voice calls out from it, "There you are!" We stop at the door. "Dad wants to see you before he jets off for the week. He sounds mad. What did you do now?"
"Very funny, Andrew." Vick looks annoyed before his face smooths over again. "He probably wants an update on this morning's trades. I'd like you to meet Ellawyn Ellis, who just started work here as a translator. Ellawyn, this is my brother, Andrew."
"Nice to meet you, Ellawyn." He reaches over his desk to shake my hand. Andrew seems quite a bit older than his brother, in his mid-thirties, I think, and reminds me of a professor with his rumpled shirt and sweater vest. He has none of Vick's golden boy looks.
"You, too, Andrew. Do you work in the investment department as well?"
"Oh heavens no, I'm not cut out for that den of inequity. I run our philanthropic arm, The Falk Foundation. We do scholarships, grants for the arts, children's programs, education initiatives, things like that. That's my milieu." He smiles kindly at me before looking at Vick again. "He leaves soon, better get up there."
"Sorry, we'll have to talk another time," Vick says apologetically.
While we're walking back toward the elevators, he asks, "Did you have a good time in Philly?"
"Yes, it was good," is all I say. I wonder if he's going to bring up Leif again. "You?"
"Yeah, but technically, I was sort of supposed to be at a conference over the weekend. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that you saw me there."
"Oh, Vick, I already did. I met your father at the graduation on Sunday. He was there with Captain Gray and I said I'd met you the night before."
"They were there?" He seems shocked by this news.
"At the ceremony. They'd said something about meeting with some Penn bigwigs, something to do with the Falk scholarship program."
"Well, no problem," he dismisses. "And hey, I really have to say that I'm sorry for what I said about Vince." He stops walking after we enter the loud trading room again, leaning in to be heard. "It was wrong of me and I'm sure he's a good guy, you know…underneath it all. It's just, I thought she was the one…And he…" His eyes are far away. "It was a few years ago and I should be over her by now." He shakes his head, regret and sadness etched on his face, then looks at me. Of course the acrimony would be about a woman. "I probably shouldn't say any more and I certainly shouldn't have said anything Saturday after a few drinks under my belt. I rarely drink and am not used its effects."
"I understand, Vick. I'm the same way with alcohol and really have to watch it. Luckily, I didn't imbibe at all Saturday night."
"Ahh…" He searches my eyes. "That's very smart, but I was not so smart. Going back to Philly sometimes brings up sad memories for me." I spot Roddy across the room, tapping his watch and pointing toward the elevator corridor.
"I'm sorry, but I need to go." I tilt my head to where Roddy stands. Vick walks with me.
"So you'll forgive me for being a little harsh and out of line this weekend?"
"Of course, Vick," I say, thinking that I've been on the harsh side as well to Leif and have a little understanding of how easy that can be—perhaps he brings it out in people. We enter the hallway where I can see Roddy up ahead, waiting by the elevators.
"Just for being so forgiving to me and to welcome you to my company, I'll take you to lunch soon, okay?" As we join Roddy, Vick presses the up elevator button, which comes immediately. "Can't keep my father waiting when he needs me," he says loudly, pointing upward as he gets into the elevator. "Duty calls!" Just before the doors close, he winks at me as his mouth curves up in a slow smile.
Roddy cuts the rest of the tour and takes us directly to the lower level. From the moment we step off the elevator, I notice the vibe is different on the basement floor. Where every other floor was all nautical-officey, but still plush, this is a much rawer space with industrial shelves along the exposed brick and stone walls. Roddy leads me into a huge open room with glass-walled offices along two sides and big sorting tables throughout it. One brick wall has numerous round clocks on it labeled, "Houston," "Barcelona," "Southampton," "Rotterdam," "Le Havre," "Primorsk," "Hamburg," and others. Those mail carts I'd seen previously—with different ship-themed handles—are haphazardly parked against the clock wall.
"Welcome to the Boiler Room," Roddy exclaims.
There are maybe fifteen to twenty young men and one woman sitting on top of the tables or on stools surrounding them. All seem to be somewhere in their twenties, except for one man who might be older, but I can't really see his face as he's got his head down, and all are in khakis and either blue polo shirts or t-shirts. I don't see the tall, dark-haired one my eyes automatically scan for as I follow Roddy threading his way through the tables toward them.
Leif walks out of one of the offices to stand at the edge of the others with his arms crossed. His only hint of recognition to me is a subtle half nod. I don't acknowledge him outwardly, but my heart thrums soundly against my chest. Even with processing what Vick just said—I should just get used to a lot of women in his past—it still feels as if I am lit up in his presence.
As we approach the group, one pasty-faced guy with light unruly hair calls to Roddy, "Now we know why you were so gung-ho to go get the new personnel hire." Roddy stops us in the middle of everyone.
Another guy sitting next to him wiggles his eyebrows at me saying, "Giggity!" I don't know what this means.
The one girl makes a disgusted noise, muttering, "Quag, you and Farmer Ted keep proving that perfect math SAT scores are in inverse proportion to social skills." The rest of the crowd titters at this, but not Leif. He's looking between the two guys with his eyebrows scrunched together.
Leif says to me, "The Captain wants to see you. Come with me."
He takes me in an office which is an outer office leading to Captain Gray's. I can see the Captain through the glass wall separating the two offices, talking to a young man in a suit. We wait until Suit Man walks out of the Captain's office, slapping Leif on the back saying, "Almost time for the passing of the baton!" He goes out to the main room as the Captain motions us in. I take a seat opposite him while Leif—no, dammit! Vince—leans against the Captain's desk, looking down on me.
"I wasn't planning on it, but I'm now going to accompany Mac on a trip and we're leaving right after the Boiler Room meeting, so we've got to be quick," The Captain says. "We've had some new developments since you first came here to talk to me, Miss Ellis and we'd like to keep them under wraps as the negotiations are, uh…rather delicate." He is thoughtful for a moment. "I'd thought to put you down here in the Boiler Room for the time being, but Vince suggested we hold off on having you start for a few weeks. We've compromised and for now have you tucked away on the administrative floor. Do you have any druthers?"
"I don't care where you put me, but if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to start now and work as much as possible." I'm thinking of Henry's medical bills, but I'm also surprised and, okay…the tiniest bit hurt that Leif might've not wanted me here at all. Why didn't he say anything about it last night? Or maybe this new thing only happened this morning.
Leif and the Captain look at each other, deep in some silent conversation. Leif gives him the barest of shrugs.
"Okay, we'll keep you where you are. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention you speak Chinese for now, nor where you've worked prior. I'm not asking you to lie, just leave it out, should it come up. I've been assured you can be trusted to keep this to yourself." He briefly eyes Leif. "I'll leave all the details to Vince to get you started, but first we have a Boiler Room meeting we can't be late for." The Captain gets up from his desk, grinning widely. "You might enjoy this, Miss Ellis." His chair is like an old wooden captain's chair from a boat. Of course it is.
When Leif leads the way out of the office, I notice Mac Falk come to stand at the far back of the main room, leaning against the brick wall with all those clocks. Leif's step falters for a moment when he sees him, then continues, pointing me to a table way off to the side where I take a seat facing everyone while he stands with his back to me at the edge of the rest of the mailroom workers.
The Captain joins the young man in the suit at the front, turning to address everyone. "As you might've guessed by the strange clothes he's wearing, my Boiler Room Second," he smiles to Suit Man, "Pux, is getting his stripes today. He's being kicked upstairs to the investment group and we will hereby retire the name, Pux, and he will now be known as Connor Phillips, Investment Manager."
The group claps politely as Connor begins. "First and foremost, I want to acknowledge Mr. Mac Falk for joining us lowly basement dwellers today. It is an honor." He motions to the back of the room and almost as one, everyone swivels their heads toward the back and immediately sits up straighter. They had all been facing front and hadn't seen him yet. Most of them do that same acknowledgement Leif did yesterday at graduation, the tipping of the imaginary hat. Mac nods sternly to the crowd. He does seem to have a kind of charisma, a commanding presence that is very different than either of his sons and is a whole different vibe than the Captain, too.
Connor continues, "Now, with that said, some of you are returning to The Boiler Room from last summer or have been here throughout some part of the year and a few of you are new. In the coming weeks, more interns will be trickling in when they finish up their semesters or quarters for the year and get done with their vacays with mommy and daddy. For those that are new, I'll tell you that The Captain's second is the one you need to suck up to if you want to come back again or be hired when you graduate. He," Connor looks at the one young woman when she makes another disgusted noise, "Or she will be the one who also determines if you get a space on one of the Falk ships, for those brave enough to put in a request. And now comes the time to name my replacement. As you know, at the end of your internship, you are expected to give a confidential report in your area of study or expertise to Captain Gray and Mr. Falk. And the next Second had the most comprehensive internship report ever in the history of this program, I'm told. He's also the reason some of you newbies are even here because before, the internships were only available to college students. Now, they're open to any old Joe off the street," he chuckles stiffly. "So…your new boss…probably not a surprise to anyone but the very dimmest of you…the one you need to suck up to…" Connor is drawing this out, but seriously, is there any doubt who he's going to name?
The Captain is watching the interns with a wry smile. Mac has that hawk-like look to him. I wish I could see Leif's face.
"Is…" Connor scans the group, laughing. "…The Invincible Vince Vincent!"
Everyone erupts in cheers and hoots as Leif, Vince, joins Connor at the front of the room. I hear the girl say, "Easiest twenty bucks I ever made. Pay up, Quag!"
Leif smilingly says, "Connor is now heading up to his luxurious new office that has actual windows in it that look out into the actual world. He has informed me that if you acknowledge him in the halls, he will pretend not to know you. This applies most especially to Quag and Farmer Ted, of course." Everyone laughs as another guy punches the Giggity guy in the arm.
Connor cuts in. "Possibly the only one I will admit to knowing is Vince, because he's slightly less ridiculous than the rest of you rabble rousers and I owe him." He gives an almost poignant look at Leif…Vince. "And maybe Cherie, because she will beat me up if I don't. That is all. Goodbye." The girl, Cherie, rolls her eyes at him.
The Captain escorts Connor to the back where Mac shakes Connor's hand. The Captain leans against the wall next to Mac.
Standing in front, Leif calls over the crowd, "The first order of business is to make sure all of Connor's mail gets misdirected to Antwerp!" Connor turns back to him, smiling. "Now that we're finally rid of that useless Carnegie Mellon layabout…" Leif grins at Connor and just before he walks out of the room, Connor gives that salute to Leif that everyone did to Mac. Leif nods in return. The room quiets again, all rapt attention on Leif.
"Let's get right to it. I'm going to announce some Boiler Room changes. The first major change is that I am appointing assistants—the Second's seconds, if you will. I'm going to be traveling some later in the summer and these people will set your assignments when I'm gone. So, yes, you'll need to suck up to them, too." Oh, there's another one of those smirk-smiles, but this time accompanied by twinkling eyes. It almost hurts.
"The first one I'm going to name was here last summer and is the only one who has ever refused a proper Boiler Room name. She has just finished her two Masters Degrees at Case Western and I'm naming her as a Second's second because she will beat me up if I don't." Leif smiles wryly as Cherie joins him at the front.
The older man, the one with his head down, mutters something I can't hear. "What was that Silent Bob?" Leif asks him gently.
Without looking up, the man says, "The Second's second is a quarter. A quarter." I think he's got some kind of autism, or maybe Asperger syndrome. "It's like a quarter."
"I think Silent Bob has made a great suggestion and I'd like to take a vote on it right now. Should the Second's second be called a Quarter?"
Mac says from the back of the room, "How about Quartermaster!"
"Mr. Mac Falk himself agrees with you, Silent Bob. All else in favor, say aye."
Everyone in the room, me included, says, "Aye!"
"Did you hear that Silent Bob? Your suggestion got a unanimous aye." Silent Bob looks up for a just a second, a shy smile on his face.
In that moment, I wonder how many times it's possible for one person—me!—to die of love for one complicated, mercurial man in one twenty-four hour period. Seeing the endearing way Leif empowered and supported this man, as well as got everyone else to do the same, somehow without moving into straight-up patronization, almost wipes out all the pendejoness I'd seen from him over the weekend. Dios mio, I'm definitely going to ask for this kind of behavior seventy-five percent of the time, for sure.
"And our next…Quartermaster…" And there's another small smile from Silent Bob. Okay, I'm thinking ninety percent now. "…is someone who does not yet have a name, at least not a proper Boiler Room one. As you might can infer from that, yes, he is one of the new recruits, and I don't want to hear one iota of grumbling about it from you, Quag, because it's not about seniority!" Leif gives the Giggity guy a mock stern look, but his eyes are twinkling drolly. "So we will give him one right now, which will also demonstrate to the rest of the newbies how it's done."
Leif motions to one of the guys to come up to the front. A tall man, taller than Leif even, mid-to-late twenties, joins Cherie and Leif at the front. He has those same long rangy muscles that Leif does and looks as if he is a mix of races, but I can't quite place which ones. He has close-cropped hair with a kind of military air about him. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks out at the other interns expectantly.
"Let's have at it," Leif says and the interns start shouting out questions.
"What's your name?"
"Herberto Oliveira," the guy answers, with a hint of a New England accent.
"What the hell kind of name is that?" someone asks.
"Cape Verdean." Ahh…there's my answer. He's a mix of Portuguese and African and who knows what else, although his skin has a darker tone than Leif's and he has bright green eyes. I'd bet they're friends, or relatives, even.
"I've never heard of it," another voice says. "Where is that?"
"Off the Western coast of Africa."
It is Leif who asks this time, "What language do they speak there?" He already knows the answer to this question and I watch his face seem to repress the mirth there.
"Portuguese," Herberto says, looking at Leif with a question in his eyes. There is some kind of game on.
"Where were you born?" someone else asks.
"Fairfield, Connecticut."
"What college did you go to?"
"I didn't go to a college," he answers.
"What's the last job you've had?"
"I was in the Deployable Operations Group in the Coast Guard." Ha! I was right about the military thing, too.
"What's your rank?"
"Lieutenant Commander."
Leif…Vince…holds up his hands. "Okay, those are enough questions for this poor boy!" He can barely keep the smirk off his face now. "Let's recap what we have so far. His name is Herberto Oliveira and his heritage is African, from a Portuguese-speaking nation. He was a Commander-in-Chief in the Coast Guard…"
"Lieutenant Commander," Herberto corrects.
"Oh right. Sorry, a Lieutenant Commander in the Coast Guard, protecting the U.S. waters, working in the Deployable Operations Group, whose acronym is DOG, I believe…Hmm…Let's think…" Okay, something is definitely going on here, because Leif is exaggerating certain words or syllables—over exaggerating, actually.
But that's as far as I can ponder it because Silent Bob starts muttering "Portuguese water dog, Portuguese water dog," over and over again.
Someone else says, "Hey, doesn't our very own Commander-in-Chief, Barack Obama, have a Portuguese water dog. What's his name?"
Silent Bob says, louder, "Bo! His dog's name is Bo. Bo. It's Bo."
Others start picking it up. "Yeah, Bo!" "That should be Herberto's nickname!" "Bo, the water dog!"
"Eh…I don't know." Leif doesn't look convinced, "but I'll leave it up to all of you. Is that what you want to call this guy? Bo?" Leif asks with a hint of a devilish gleam.
Everyone says "Aye!"
A glance over to the back shows Mac laughing uproariously and the Captain smilingly shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.
When I look to Leif again, both Cherie and Herberto…Bo…are slapping some money on his upturned palm. Leif has one of those glorious, not-fair-at-all, wide open smiles on his face. Captain Gray now walks up to Leif and lays some more bills in his hand with a begrudging smile. He turns to the interns. "A word to the wise. Never, ever bet against Vince."
Someone asks, "What was that bet about?"
Leif says, "That is not the important question, Chin-up. The important question is where we're going to order in lunch as it is now on me. And I think Silent Bob should get to choose for his brilliant naming of the new Quartermaster position."
Mac comes to the front, still chuckling, and hands something to Leif. "Keep your money, Vince, it was well-earned. Charge whatever Silent Bob picks to this card. Congratulations, Cherie and welcome Bo." He shakes both their hands. "And welcome the rest of you returning interns and new recruits. I'll be keeping a close eye on your progress and look forward to meeting with each of you individually when the time comes." He briefly meets my eyes. "And the Captain is right. You should never bet against Vince." Mac Falk does that tipping hat salute to Leif, before turning to go. "Let's hit the air, Gray."
Leif calls to them, "Fair winds and following seas." He looks as if he is about to burst with…something…Joy? Triumph?...as Mac and the Captain leave the Boiler Room.
In a handful of minutes as head of the Boiler Room, Leif, Vince, has galvanized everyone, even the head of the whole company, to his side, through an easy humor and gentle empowerment, and one hilarious bet that I can't figure out the specifics of. This is, in essentials, an extension of what I witnessed in Philly, with all those people coming up to him, wanting to be near him. James had said that he is a natural leader and I loved that I got to see that quality in action on the first day—first moments—of his new job. Everyone is buzzing about how Mac Falk was here in The Boiler Room; it must not be a common occurrence. The whole room is infused with humor and camaraderie and it seems to emanate directly from that beautiful man commanding the room.
But of course that doesn't last long. It never does with Leif and me.
