Chapter 6 posted – got inspired.

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Link to Billy Joel Angry Young Man: watch?v=M2iNLt_hUZg

Chapter 6

She wasn't sure what to expect for her first 'meeting' with Erik. He had reached out over the weekend in an email (and how had he found her email address?) that she reread approximately 20 times though why she did she couldn't quite say.

Dear Christine,

Please forward along the draft of your thesis slides and paper by Monday morning.

See you tomorrow at 5:30 pm.

Erik

Impersonal. Short. It gave nothing away. Even his emails wore a mask; but she did as he asked though she labored over her response for over an hour. It was the end of September, it was still six months prior to her thesis due date. She hoped he didn't expect too much. What did he know about MBA theses and their timelines? What was she thinking going through with this?

Because you don't have any other options, do you?

Except she did. Rafe had reached out on Saturday asking her to get coffee to catch up and review her work. That was another option. But there was something about Erik that commanded her presence. She wanted to see him again and she couldn't figure out why.

Maybe she felt bad for him. Certainly, there was pity; a certain grotesque fascination with the disfigured genius who literally held the future of her career in his hands. She remembered seeing those hands, feeling them in the dark of the elevator when they, ever so briefly, intertwined with her own. Her face heated to think of what might have happened if the lights had not broken the spell the dark had woven between them. His fingers were long, and she wondered if he would ever play the piano for her. He had been a celebrated pianist in his youth and there was that gorgeous black Fazioli piano adjacent to the windows. Maybe if she asked, he would play something for her?

So, it was equal parts nervousness and longing that she approached Erik's building on Monday evening for the second time. Mindy made an obnoxious comment about Christine leaving the office right at 5 as though she didn't regularly burn the midnight oil but then it was strange for Mindy to still be there are that time herself. Usually, she found reasons to be out the door by 4 pm. She ducked questions and headed out while Mindy had her head turned but it was reasonable for her to leave at closing time and frankly it was no one's business but her own.

This time Joe waved her in with a broad smile and nod.

"They're waiting for you upstairs, Miss Derring."

They?

She didn't have long to ponder Joe's remark when the elevator doors opened to Erik standing there dressed in dark blue denim and a forest green sweater. He still wore the mask, and she wondered if would ever voluntarily remove it in her presence.

"Christine, I have invited a guest to our first session today. I don't want you to be too concerned but since you claim not to be afraid of me, I needed to have a better understanding of what we are dealing with."

Christine stared at him like a deer in headlights. "You did this without asking my permission?" Had they discussed sharing this information with other people? Christine was on alert, partially angry but mostly just terrified.

"Let's not overreact. Our goal is to get you comfortable with being uncomfortable while on stage. You're going to have to accept that if we are going to help you achieve that goal."

"But who is this person?"

"Garret Dixon. He is an important – consultant – with Gardner industries. You'll be presenting your thesis to him. I sent him the slides you emailed to me, so he is familiar with the topic of your presentation. He is going to fill the role of your audience today."

Christine could feel a fine mist of sweat start to collect on her forehead as she followed Erik into the mansion that was his apartment. Looking around she could see that her slide deck was already showing on the large tv screen in his living room along with a slide clicker and her printed out notes. Erik looked back at her, and she gave him a pleading look.

"Garret," Erik called out to the kitchen. "Will you please join us?"

Christine swung around and a medium height man in his late fifties joined them. He was dressed in a dark blue, well-fitting suit. His hair was grey and close cropped like he had been in the military in his youth and decided that the cut they gave him was as good as it was going to get. The look on his face was stoic though wrinkles near his mouth proclaimed him as someone who smiled often. He wasn't smiling now.

"Thank you again for helping us today, Garret." Erik slapped a hand on his colleague's back, completely at ease.

"A pleasure, Erik." He looked Christine up and down accessing her cooly. "Shall we get started, Miss Derring?"

Christine looked from Erik to his colleague. She couldn't quite make her mouth work. Her heart was racing, and she felt her breath quicken. Both men seemed completely oblivious to her growing distress as they made their way to the set of grey sofas in the large living space. The sun was moving towards the west and Erik had put on the screen to ensure the sun was not in their eyes. Christine plodded along behind them trying and failing to calm herself down.

Erik handed her a small remote control. "This will allow you to move through your slides. You have your notes – let me get you a glass of water." Erik excused himself, leaving Christine alone with Garrett who said nothing as if trying to be as intimidating as possible.

It was working.

When Erik returned, she gulped down a large drink of water and inelegantly wiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her cardigan.

"Ready whenever you are, Miss Derring." Garret commanded from the couch. The look on his face suggested that he felt like this was the largest possible waste of his time.

Christine's fingers were pins and needles while she attempted to access her slide deck. She successfully moved to the agenda slide and attempted to begin.

"I… I'm excited to speak with you today…"

She attempted to breathe but it felt unsatisfying, and her clothes felt too tight. She tried to meet the eyes of Garret Dixon sitting a few feet away from her, but he seemed oddly far off; the edges of her vision turned gray. Her heartbeat sounded fast and loud in her ears. Her palms were slick, and she rubbed them against the wool of her dress.

Her thesis was an analysis of organizational attempts to create revenue streams by internalizing large scale costs creators – basically she was studying how companies could make more money. She had analyzed several case studies to find common trends that lead to success in these endeavors and the industries where this was most likely to gain traction. She had been researching the topic for the last twelve months and was well versed in examples in several industries. She could talk about this topic in her sleep were she so inclined.

Instead, she fainted.

"Well, that could have gone better." Garret stood above Erik as he knelt on the ground by Christine's prone form. Erik gave him an exasperated glare and gently lifted Christine onto the couch. "Should I call 911?" He asked in a chastened tone.

Erik had a finger on her pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. "No, she just fainted. Get me a wet hand towel then make yourself scarce. You scared the shit out of her."

"That's what you asked me to do!" Garret said, but he did as Erik asked.

The cool cloth did its job and at length Erik watched Christine return to consciousness letting out a pitiful groan when she saw Erik's concerned eyes as he sat next to her on the sofa.

"What happened? Why is there a wet rag on my head?"

"You fainted. It was quite impressive."

"God, that's going to go over great with your consultant. Way to tank my professional reputation." She threw an arm over her eyes in a gesture that would have been borderline melodramatic if Erik had thought she lacked sincerity.

"First, you need to not take everything quite so seriously. I knew you were struggling with stage fright though clearly, I underestimated just how badly it affects you. Second, I need to confess that Garret Dixon was putting on a show. He is my personal assistant and chauffeur. He agreed to this ruse so I could understand the extent of your struggles."

Christine bolted upright at this news. "You tricked me!"

"I did. I'm not going to apologize for it. If I am going to help you, and I intend to, then you needed to feel legitimately afraid. Since you don't fear me for some reason, I had to provide an alternative."

"That's such incredible arrogance. I passed out. I could have gotten hurt."

"Yes, well that is something I apologize for. It was not my intention that you should risk a concussion though you seem to be fine right now."

"And smart enough to know that I should never have agreed to this arrangement in the first place! What was I thinking? You're crazy."

Erik seemed unimpressed with her loss of temper. "I understand. I'd be furious as well."

"Well, I'm glad you haven't lost all of your interpersonal skills." Christine swung her feet around to the edge of the couch, and paused, blinking several times indicating that the motion made her woozy.

"Slowly, now." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Can you do me a favor before you storm out? I'm concerned with you leaving quite so quickly after bumping your head. Can you please stay for another half hour just so we know you are okay? I'll give you a tour. I'm sure you must have some curiosity about what lies beyond the main room?"

He watched as she gritted her teeth. Erik knew Christine had a healthy curiosity and he was willing to bet she would want to see his domain as it were. He knew he was manipulating her and that was wrong, but he justified doing so in that he was doing it in her best interests.

"Very well. I'm still angry at you though."

"Of course." He stood and offered his arm and she stared at it like some alien appendage. "Indulge me, the last thing I need is for you to pass out again." She looked torn before putting a hand on his forearm and standing gingerly. Erik tried and failed to ignore the sensation that her touch sparked within him. It had taken much willpower to resist the urge to run his hands through her dark blonde hair when she lay on the floor.

"How long have you lived here?" She asked at length, breaking him out of his reverie.

"I bought this apartment when the building was constructed ten years ago. I wanted it created to my specifications."

"What were your specifications?"

"High ceilings. Open spaces. I wanted a space where I can breathe. Of course, I needed an office, a library, a recording studio… that last one needed special sound proofing."

"Recording studio?" Christine came up short and almost bumped into him. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as they continued down the first hallway.

"Yes, you know I play piano and occasionally I compose. I like to record some of my work or when I master a particularly difficult piece." He paused. "This wing of the apartment are these spaces." He indicated the library which featured a single armchair and ottoman and a wide collection of books. They were of all shapes and sizes in a hodgepodge of titles.

"You like to read?"

"Yes, I force myself to do so an hour every day."

"Force yourself?" She looked at him, skeptically. "Why force yourself?"

"It keeps me on a schedule." He shrugged. He didn't want to admit to her that if he didn't have activities planned throughout the day, the loneliness of his existence would have killed him long ago. His eyes met hers and he saw her brow furrow slightly. He sensed that she understood his logic without having to spell it out.

"Moving on," he opened the door to his recording studio. It was more than the average in home studio kit. On one side was a smaller upright piano. Across was a computer set-up with the necessary gadgetry to edit, record and store his compositions and covers.

"Will you play me something you've recorded?" She asked, her eyes eager. How could he possibly refuse?

"If you like," he turned on the equipment, a hundred lights flickering on instantaneously. "I know you like Billy Joel. Our conversation at the opera inspired me." He sat in his chair and offered Christine the piano bench, grateful he had a place for her to sit. He opened the software and pressed on a file and the sounds of piano filled the room.

"Angry Young Man!" Christine exclaimed and looked at Erik. It was a well-known song, famous for its complex piano arrangement. "A bit on the nose, isn't it?"

"Which part? 'proud of his scars'?" Erik shook his head. He was typically angry and bitter at any reference to his disfigurement but sitting here with her was the closest he had come to comfort in a long while.

"I was thinking more 'with his foot in his mouth'?" she said referring to the well-known lyrics to the song.

"I was more interested in mastering the rhythm. It's a challenging piece to get right."

They sat and listened through the lengthy prelude and Christine startled when suddenly she heard Erik's voice ringing out through the speakers.

"You can sing!" she smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"It's Billy Joel, it's not Puccini." He shrugged and turned off the equipment. "Come on, let me show you some more."

He took her to his spacious gym set up next. This was the area he was most proud of. He had transformed one of the balconies into a covered lap pool with an infinity edge. On the other side were standard exercise equipment – weights, a treadmill, a Peloton and other workout machines.

"I prefer to jog outside in the winter when it's very cold. I wear a full mask."

"I suppose I understand though I'm sure it scares some of the female joggers who might think you are a villain chasing them. Those full masks always remind me of bank robbers in movies."

"That's why I picked a florescent green mask. Much easier just to look like a garden variety oddball that way."

Christine made a noise of amusement through her nose and tried not to smile. He could see she was getting comfortable again, her anger at the earlier hoax abated. Erik invited her to sit on the edge of the pool, looking out to the setting sun over the Hudson River.

"It was unkind of me to fool you earlier, but I promise my intentions were good."

"Ha. Like the angry young man, himself." She smiled and didn't look over at him, mesmerized by the orange and gold of the sky.

"I did read through the draft of your paper. I enjoyed some of the points you made with regards to how companies can determine when to shift their efforts internally."

"It's a hard formula to figure out. When does it become a waste of infrastructure and when is it a missed opportunity? Do you want to know how I came up with the idea?"

"Tell me."

"I waitressed at the Cheesecake Factory in college. As you might imagine they are famous for their cheesecake but if you ever serve at their restaurants, you will find that even more than the cheesecake, the most popular item is not even on the menu. It is the brown bread they give to patrons when they sit down. Bread and butter. Classic free item in most restaurants."

"I've never been to a Cheesecake Factory but now you're making me very curious."

"They are a wonder of operations; I'll send you a great study about them. Anyway, this bread is addictive. I'm pretty sure it's the carbohydrate equivalent of crystal meth. But they give it away for free. So it's a cost to them even while it helps draw in customers." She paused, "So what do you do if you are Cheesecake Factory? You give away the bread but then maybe the customers don't buy appetizers or perhaps they aren't hungry for cake. How do you turn this to your advantage?"

"You sell them more bread after they hit one basket?" Erik suggested.

"A reasonable idea but that would affect customer experience. No, what they did was start selling the bread in stores. It took a cost center and turned it into a profit generator that brought the brand into the consumer marketplace. It was brilliant!" She was laughing and turned to Erik who was watching her beneath his mask, his blue eyes taking in her every statement. "What?"

"Christine, you just spent the better part of the last ten minutes defending your thesis while talking about bread."

"And?"

"I must apologize again, but I hope it is for the last time. I needed to know tonight if your struggles related to what's going on are happening in here," he pointed to her brain, "or in here." He pointed to her chest. "You clearly know the material but something in your body is getting in the way. Knowing what I know now I truly believe I can help you overcome your stage fright. I will ask one more time, will you let me help you?' He held her eyes, unwilling to let her gaze go. Her lips parted but there was a smile about them, and he knew what she would say before she said it.

"Let's do it."