Chapter 37…Risks…
James face lights up when he sees me walk in to Henry's living room, then falls when he sees that all I have with me are bags of Chinese takeout. I put them on the table and bend to kiss Granddad's cheek as he closes his laptop. I guess he and James have been "talking."
"Do you know when Emory is coming?" James asks with a hopeful look on his face.
"Oh, James…I'm sorry, but she can't make it tonight." He looks absolutely crushed and I am annoyed with Em for not letting him know.
She'd texted me hours earlier only this, I can't come tonight. I just can't be around James right now. I'd immediately texted her back, You WILL explain that sentence to me! I got no response.
"Did she say why? Is she feeling better? I've not talked to her since I left her apartment yesterday morning! Is she okay?" He's practically working himself into a lather.
I answer his question with a partial truth. "She's fine, just has some work…quandaries going on right now." And life quandaries. And personal quandaries. And quandaries about her future and how it relates to her past. And quandaries about this lovely British boy who's crazy about her.
Henry chimes in. "See, James? Did I not tell you Em would understand." I translate for James, not knowing what this refers to.
James shrugs forlornly. "I guess it's going around. I've not seen or talked to Leif either, since Sunday. He's been getting home after I'm already asleep and leaving before I wake. But he did text to say he has some work-oriented issues to deal with tonight and he can't make it either."
"Oh he did, did he?" Of course he did. A Chinese word pops in my mind. Nuofu. He's avoiding me, avoiding this conversation. Earlier today, I'd worked on those handouts for the proposed classes in Chinese. We'd gone over them and it was then that Vince issued the caveat to my new employment terms: I'm to work from home. He'd dismissed me just before lunchtime. So yeah, he doesn't want me there. And as usual, he got his way.
The funny thing is that gradually in the couple hours I was at Falk, I'd given up on all this. All this being everything to do with Vince and his secrets, and Vick and what Cherie said and everything. The reasons were many and compounded, seeming to build on each other. One is that the familiar guilt descended around me, honestly, going back to my behavior for weeks now. I've felt this before, but today, I put it all together, it solidified. I'd gotten upset and ran out on that first dinner at the Gotham, like a child. All because I was embarrassed. I've seemed to make embarrassing spectacles of myself everywhere. And then I get angry at Vince and wonder why he thinks of me as a child—when, in truth, I've acted like one. Time and time again. No wonder he doesn't want me there.
At each of the previous jobs I've held while at college—whether I was volunteering tutoring ESL to foreign-speaking immigrants, or getting paid, such as with my various jobs teaching wealthy kids foreign languages—at some point, everyone commented on how dependable I was. How, at such a young age—I started working at sixteen and volunteering long before that—how mature I was. How I worked without the usual drama one might encounter in one so young. That is what all my letters of recommendation said in one form or another. Now, I absolutely refuse to regress into a silly, frivolous teenager. I want to get back to that equilibrium I had before and bring it into this new life I have in New York, no matter what games are going on around me. And I did today, as I delved into my new duties assigned by my new boss. Which is sort of ironic because he's been the source of so much of my unsteadiness. No…not the source, but the catalyst; I have to take responsibility for my own feelings and actions. Either way, I found that steadiness again as I lost myself in translation. First, with quickly making up a simple two-page handout for the proposed Chinese class. And then, after going home and setting up a work space in the study, with translating the Falk manual. Its scholastic quality, albeit of the corporate kind, was comforting. Familiar.
While editing the translation of the Falk manual, I discovered yet another reason for hunkering down and staying out of Vince's way. The section on non-fraternization stated that Falk employees are required to disclose to their direct supervisor any prior relationships between employees who work together. I know Vince did that with both me and Bo—told Captain Gray about being "family friends." It goes on to state that romantic relationships between co-workers in the same department are discouraged and certainly cannot happen between anybody who has the decision-making power over the other's advancement or salary. This is to avoid even the appearance of favoritism. This was all written in corporate-speak, but the creative translation of it, to me, to my life, is that Leif was right to be upset that Vick saw us together since, yeah…we might've looked like more than "family friends" that night. And since those two are not friendly, Vick could make trouble for him. Also, rather self-serving of me is that I am now on a good salary—or "retainer," as Leif put it—and can help my family by keeping this job. I don't need any trouble on that front either.
I think back to Cherie's joking words during our naming bet…Save the drama for your mama! Well, since I was seven, I haven't had one of those, but I had the most wonderful and wise pair of grandparents. One of whom is still here and recovering from a severe medical event. He needs me. In fact, he's probably hungry right now.
"I don't know about you two, but I'm starving!" I say brightly as I get up to grab some plates and cutlery from Henry's kitchen.
After dinner, James opens his gift from me and I explain the various elements of it, much like I did with Leif Sunday night. I shut down and put a firm clamp on the memory of being curled up in his arms while doing so, but not before my entire body flashes with a feeling that I could call…awakening. That won't do at all. Nope!
I give James the greeting card filled with my wishes for him for his post-grad life. I'd written out his and Leif's cards yesterday morning at The Rambler before leaving to get in my… carriage. There's no way I'll give Vince his card now that my view of things is so different; it was written when I was still playing with childish ideas and the sentiments in it are a little too effusive. Okay, a lot too effusive. It's tucked away in my nightstand at home, never to see the light of day.
Next, Henry gives James his graduation gift. It is a box of one hundred pieces of note paper and envelopes printed with a stylized Ransdell family crest, which Megan and I had looked up on the internet while I was in the store. His artwork has it, too. The paper is thick stock and was printed using an ancient, stuttering printing press that was in the workshop. I don't know why I'm just noticing this now, but the Ransdell shielded crest has winged lions on it, like Em's artwork.
I ask Henry, "Where is Leif's gift from you? I don't see it where I left it yesterday."
Henry replies that he already gave it to him. I want to ask him when, but James starts speaking quietly. "It's funny that Leif gave me an antique pen as a graduation gift when we spent that week in Philadelphia. It has a shield on it, like this stationery does. My family name, Ransdell, is derived from an old German word which means 'shield.' This is so kind of you both. I didn't expect a gift and I'm so glad to know you both and…have no words. This is…this is so…so…" his voice chokes up and I scoot my chair closer and put my arms around him. I'm pretty sure this is evidence of much more than being emotionally moved by his gifts. His normal effervescence has been considerably dimmed tonight.
I whisper to him, "It's okay, James. Whatever is bothering you, you've got friends who are here for you." I feel him nod and keep my arms around him, squeezing tighter, wanting so much to shield him from whatever pain he's feeling.
Another Chinese word pops in my head and I say it out loud. "Ping!" Then, "Shirudo! Un bouclier!" I see Henry catch on.
He grabs the thread. "Scutum! Dera! Escudo!" Henry continues translating the word "shield" into other languages until James looks up in bewilderment.
"That's just the noun forms," I say to Henry. "We could do the verb forms, too!"
Henry and I say at the same time, "Proteger!" Spanish for "to shield." We both pause. It is clear by Henry's expression that he is remembering James saying that the first nickname he heard for Leif was "El Protector." Not that different from "shield."
Henry draws a circle in the air and I nod at him, knowing it's a kind of pictorial creative translation for "cycles repeating." I don't know why but this sets me giggling. Henry, who can rarely resist anyone laughing, joins in. Soon, James is, too. We sound loony.
When our laughter dries up, I feel two distinct things. One, is slightly freer and looser mostly because James seems to feel better, his shoulders are not so hunched, there's that sweet sparkle in his eye again. And two, I have that familiar feeling of…aliveness?...that seems to come when Leif is around. I swivel my head toward the door behind me, but don't see him. I still feel it, though. I get up and walk to the door to stick my head out in the hall to see Vince leaning against the wall, shoving a sheaf of papers into his new bag from Em.
"Really, Vince? Eavesdropping? That is so rude. And duplicitous, I might add!" I turn back into the room to hide my guilty—and hypocritical—face.
Henry waves him in, "Join us, Leif. We were just giving James a bevy of new nicknames derived from his family name." I briefly translate for James.
"You were?" James asks. I guess he wouldn't know what Henry and I were doing before devolving into laughter since he probably couldn't understand Henry very well and we were using foreign words for "shield."
"'Darian' is what I'm going to choose," Henry tells him. "Welsh for shield. Although I may change that along the way."
"Shirudo, for me. Japanese. But 'Mon Petit Ping' is good, too."
"Oooh! I like that even better!" Henry exclaims.
Vince is wearing a gray suit that looks bespoke, like the other two times I've seen him in a suit. Mon dieu, but he looks good in suits. And jeans. And satin bowties and vests, which no one should look good in. Even that Boiler Room uniform, which is what he was wearing when I left Falk this afternoon. He'd changed. Which makes me wonder if he's coming from a date with the woman who called him. Or worse, leaving from here to meet up with her. He'd waited until I was all the way out into the main Boiler Room to pick up her phone call. Kelly Granger—even her name sounds like a perfect mix of beautiful and smart and womanly. No one could ever describe someone named Kelly Granger as skinny and gawky like a boy. The food I just ate curdles in my stomach.
No! No, no, no! I refuse to go there again. Another reason for my renewed equilibrium is that I surreptitiously watched Vince until I was banished from Falk. I really couldn't help it what with the glass walls and all. A few of the Boiler Room interns did not accompany Cherie and Bo to Elizabeth. That, Vince told me, was a trip designed to introduce the new interns around to the various departments by the older interns. Tomorrow they're going to the much smaller Red Hook office. They'll do those same getting-to-know-Falk trips with each batch of newbies who trickle in over the coming weeks.
The ones who came in after delivering mail and such were in and out of Vince's office, or Captain Gray's, rather, which he seems to have commandeered as his own. I was too far away to hear what was said, unless he came out to the main room, but in each of those times, he seemed so patient with everyone, so giving. Like he has been with me when I really needed him. I remembered Em saying that you can't help who you're attracted to, only what you choose to do about it. He can't help it that he's not attracted to me and I can't help that I am to him. But what I can do is leave him to himself, at least with regards to that. I can't help but admire his good qualities though. For some reason, witnessing those qualities, from a distance, helped. I even put down trying to find fault with him, such as I did when I mentally claimed that he lied. I need to stop doing that.
Henry brings me out of my thoughts saying delightedly, "Now I see what you were talking about, Elle, when you described Leif as a dandy!"
Leif raises his eyebrow to me and I mutter, "You supplied that word, G, not me." What happened to "my story to tell"? And sacred secret-keeping?
Henry says to Leif, "That was from that first dinner, I believe, before I knew who you were, when Elle said that. But you do look good all decked out! No wonder all the young women are falling at your feet." Of course this brings up memories of falling on the elevator and in the hallway outside the Rambler. Thanks a lot, Granddad.
Leif says wryly, "Not all of them."
James says, "Leif does like his clothes! Even before he could really afford to dress well, he still put his clothes together with a good bit of flash and dash."
"Was that before you both made all that money betting on races and fighting?" I ask, in a Classic Redirect; to move it further away from the topic of falling.
"You told Elle?" James is looking at Leif incredulously. He wouldn't know unless Leif had told him. "Wow! Good man! That's quite a turnaround from Saturday night when we were arguing about going to the bar where the guys from the ring hang out. I'm impressed." He turns to me. "Although he didn't actually say, I know Leif particularly wasn't keen on you knowing about all that."
I say a silent blessing for James' openness. "He didn't tell me. Thomas Sadler did." The one he put in the hospital.
James face falls. "Oh." He pauses for a long time. "We both still feel awful about that, but we did pay his medical bills. And that was the last time we…at least with the fighting matches…So much good did come from all of that time, though. All the betting."
Leif tries to shut James down with a warning look and then I am surprised anew when Henry puts his hand on Leif's arm shutting him down. "Why not choose to risk it, Leif? Risk letting people know you better. Perhaps you can start by simply allowing James to express what he wants to about it as it is his story as well."
Leif doesn't answer verbally, but steels himself as James goes on to tell us that they started a whole investment club to teach the participants how to handle and invest money. It started when Leif overheard some of the guys talking about blowing their winnings all in one weekend. One rower even bet and then lost a not insignificant portion of the student loan he'd just received. First they started holding meetings in the back of that bar Leif and I had gone to. Then they moved it to the apartment in the house they rented.
"But," James says. "We had to move the meetings from the apartment because it got too big, for one. But also we found that too many of the girls who had no interest in investing would come just to have reason to be invited over to Leif's house." They moved it to a meeting room in one of the university buildings.
I think back to all those people on Saturday night coming up to Leif and James. "The Sous Chef, Bobby?" I ask.
"Yes. He showed an amazing aptitude for it, as did his girlfriend, Shelley. They're going to open their own restaurant with Bobby as chef and she's going to run the operations, dividing their talents not unlike how Leif and I have. And Martin, whom you also met with his family, has paid for his schooling and his sister's as well. He and many others didn't even know about any of the betting, but word got around somehow about the investment club. Martin is going to continue running it since we've left."
Henry, who is clearly enthralled with this story asks, "Did you learn the basics of investing in your school classes?" I translate.
"No, it was long before college. Leif and I had a mock investment company in secondary school that did really well. We found we had a knack for it. Then when I turned eighteen, we started it for real. So far we've amassed mi…" Leif does try to shut James up again, but after a pause, he keeps going. "…we've done well—all part of our future plan where…"
Leif has reached his limit. "James," is all he says, but the warning is implied in it.
Henry pats Leif's arm again. "There! That wasn't so bad was it? Baby steps."
Yeah, of course they've done well with their burgeoning company. Of course. I stare down at the table, thinking back to the dinner at the Gotham and a snort-laugh escapes my mouth. When I glance up there are three pair of eyes looking at me questioningly.
It is Leif who verbalizes their expressions. "What? What are you thinking?"
When I don't answer immediately, Henry says, "Leif has risked sharing. Can't you do the same?" He turns to the two boys. "Opening up is not easy for our Elle, either."
Leif and I are nothing the same! Are we? "Okay, fine. I was just thinking that I really shouldn't have worried about the prices on the menu when I ordered at The Gotham." Which I never got to do because I ran out. Like a big baby. A Nuofu—a coward. That thought brings a blush to my face. I have to explain what I mean to Henry and James.
Henry laughs, "Yes, that is your go-to way, isn't it? Guilt, coupled with quietly and surreptitiously taking care of those around you. That is how she did with her grandmother and me, although it wasn't about menu prices, but still a common element at its core. " A quick glance at Leif shows yet another unfathomable expression on his face, like he's been struck. James is smiling sweetly at me as Henry continues. "Have I gone too far, Elle? In talking about you? Pushing you?"
I don't know what's gotten into Henry, but what he said wasn't so bad. I also don't want him to worry about me and besides…Didn't I think just yesterday that I was going to accept this poking at my inner hidden places? So I shake my head—but really, I wish he wouldn't do it in front of Leif.
"Sometimes I think it is especially hard for those who have had devastating losses so early in life to let people in."
Henry has obliquely brought up my parents. This must be part of the new way we've tacitly decided on. Strangely, though, he is not looking at me now, but at Leif.
I am distracted by the ping of an incoming text. I reach around to my messenger bag to pull out my phone.
As I'm reading it, James asks hopefully, "Is that Em?"
"No, it's another…friend."
"Speaking of friends," Henry says. "What I would wish for you all is that you take some new risks with your friends now. Risk people knowing you. Risk letting people in. Risk being vulnerable. Risk expressing yourself, asserting who you really are. Risk failing. Fail a lot of times! Change those old ways and break those old patterns." Henry's gaze toggles between all three of us, his expression adamant. No one translates for James, but he's listening intently, maybe picking up some of it. "Because what are you risking if you step out of your safe place? Possibly being thought of as not being good? Or not being man enough or woman enough? When really, all you need to be is yourself—your true self. I think back to the biggest risk I ever took and it was so worth it. I risked rejection, risked humiliation and actually, I was rejected, I was humiliated. At first—many times. Oh, but the reward! Elle knows this story, but have I ever told you two about the time I met my wife? Elle's grandmother? I was a complete ass! And actually, so was she."
I roll my eyes at Granddad and smile indulgently. Yeah, I've heard this story a time or two. I excuse myself and go into the bathroom as Henry starts.
Another reason for maintaining my steadiness today is that I got a series of texts with a carefully chosen line of poetry, or a quote, or song lyrics—only some of which I knew—and ended with a time and address of the intimate bar that Adam's band is booked at tonight. I'd written him back after the first one to say that I had a planned dinner with my grandfather and didn't know if I could come. He went entirely overboard and kept sending them anyway, to the point that it was ridiculous, to the point that it made me laugh. This last text is number eleven.
It is a very intentional misquote from French Nobel-prize winning author Andre Gide. I know this because Grandmother used to quote it to me, in French, most especially when I wasn't at all sure about starting at Stanford. It was entirely too far away from my grandparents, although they did stay in Palo Alto that first summer.
The actual quote is, On ne decouvre pas de terre nouvelle sans consentir a perdre de vue d'abord et longtemps tout rivage. One does not discover new lands without attempting to lose sight, for a very long time, of the shore.
What Adam wrote me just now is, One does not discover new bands without consenting to walk out the door.
P.S. (So come on, Ellawyn…walk out the door!)
The original quote is all about risk.
I have to laugh at his creative translation. He couldn't know this is echoing my beloved Grandmother—I can almost hear her voice urging me—and definitely Granddad from just moments ago. I lean against the sink and look around the bathroom at all the mocking monkeys covering their eyes, ears, or mouths.
I've seen so much of the world; both its good and bad and everything in between. Because of all those distant lands, I've been ahead of my years scholastically, and in other ways, too. But I'm behind in experiencing what so many other people my age have experienced. Because of being so…other...so outside the norm, I've never thought of it in reference to my peers—being behind or ahead—until now. But there it is. I've got some catching up to do.
"Suck it, you stupid little monkeys," I say out loud, deciding something right then. I'm not going to be a Nuofu, a coward.
I am going to risk it, oh yes I am.
I walk out the door.
