Jennifer Hillier: Creep

“Call me Morris,” he said again, waving a hand dismissively and turning to face his computer. Large fingers clicked on the mouse. He scrolled until he found what he was looking for. “There’s the e-mail. You know, Tom, I’m glad to meet you because Randall says you’d be a tremendous asset to our organization. He says the two of you know each other from Stanford and you moved here to get married. What did you study?”

“I majored in economics at Stanford, then went to Wharton for my MBA. Specialized in strategic investments for global industries, particularly those based in the Middle East.” The story rolled smoothly off Ethan’s tongue. He’d practiced reciting it for days. “Met my fiancée here when I did an internship at Microsoft in their business development division. Decided Seattle might be a nice place to raise a family.”

“Where you from originally?”

“I grew up in Texas. Austin.” Same place as Morris.

“You’re kidding. What area?”

“Tarrytown.”

“Clarksville!” The hearty laugh again. It hurt Ethan’s ears. “Small world. How long were you there?”

“I graduated from Steve Austin High in ’99. Left for Stanford after that.”

“I graduated in ’78. Go Hawks!” Morris seemed pleased. “Christ, we’re practically family. Does Randall know that you and his old man are from the same hometown?”

“He didn’t mention it? I thought for sure that’s why you agreed to meet me.”

“Well now, he might have, maybe it slipped my mind.” Morris’s grin didn’t waver, but his eyes changed ever so slightly.

Interesting. Morris Gardener wasn’t a half-bad liar. Ethan tucked this tidbit away for future reference. He knew for a fact that Morris hadn’t talked to his oldest son, Randall, in years. Sheila had confided this little piece of gossip to Ethan months ago in bed, after a particularly sweaty romp involving her silk scarf and a jar of chocolate body paint.

It had been the easiest thing in the world to make up an e-mail address for Randall and contact Morris, asking dear old Dad if he could make time to meet with his good buddy Tom from college, who was in town and job hunting.

Ethan said, “Randy told me you’ve been here at Bindle for over ten years, used to work at LoneStar Capital.” He’d actually read this off the man’s bio that was posted on the firm’s website.

“That’s right, Tom. Transferred over in ’99 and never looked back.”

“So you’re clearly happy with your career here. How would you describe the corporate culture?”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

A well-timed self-conscious laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

Morris grinned. “Don’t be. Determining whether this job is the right fit for you goes both ways. Let’s see… corporate culture…” A rambling five-minute explanation followed, then, “Now, let me tell you more about the job.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ethan sat politely while Morris droned on about the responsibilities of being a junior account manager, interjecting with questions when appropriate. If he’d really been Tom Young, the job might have sounded okay. Morris was probably a decent boss. Ethan kept his face composed, nodding in the right places and forcing himself to take in as many details as he could-one never knew what might be useful later.

It was clear Morris was a smart man. This didn’t surprise Ethan. Sheila wouldn’t waste her time on someone who didn’t match her own intelligence. But everything about her fiancé was large. Big body, big voice, big hands, big feet. He made Ethan feel… small.

Ethan hated him.

“Based on your qualifications, Tom, I think you’d be a great fit for this division.”

“I’m glad you think so, Morris.”

The big man cleared his throat. “Now, I gotta confess that we’ve done things a bit backwards here. Obviously I wanted to meet you since my-Randall-spoke so highly of you, but you’ll need to submit a résumé with Human Resources and be interviewed by our hiring committee before an official offer can be made. Though with your background, I don’t foresee any problems.”

“I understand. I’ll send them the information today.”

Morris stood up. Ethan followed suit.

“Great meeting you, Tom. I’ll be putting in a strong recommendation.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that, Morris.”

The older man hesitated. “Listen, any chance you’ll be talking to Randall over the next day or two?”

“Probably. He’ll be curious to know how our meeting went.”

“Uh…” Morris’s face flushed. A bead of sweat appeared at his graying hairline. “Maybe you could tell him to give his old man a call. I’m getting married in a few weeks and he, uh… never officially confirmed whether he’s bringing his girlfriend… uh…”

“Donna.”

“Right, Donna.” Morris paused, then threw a hand up in the air. “Ah hell. You’ve been friends with Randy for what, eight, ten years? You must know we’ve hardly spoken. Not since his mother and I divorced. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Wasn’t exactly the best husband and father back then.”

Ethan gave a sympathetic nod. “He told me. We’ve talked about it quite a bit, actually. But I think-” He stopped. “You know what? It’s not my place to say.”

“Please, speak freely.”

Ethan counted to five, hoping for just the right amount of hesitation to seem uncomfortable but also concerned. “Well, he’s been doing some thinking. He and Donna have been going through some difficulties of their own, and I think it’s given him some perspective on you and his mom divorcing.”

“Really?” Morris’s round face was so filled with hope that Ethan almost felt a pang of pity. Almost. “He told you that?”

“Pretty much. And he also said that you and he-”

A loud beep shrilled from the phone. Pained, Morris held up a chunky finger and pressed the speaker button.

“Yes, Darcy,” he barked.

Her crisp, no-nonsense voice chirped, “Mr. Evers and Mr. Chan are here. Waiting for you in the boardroom.”

“Be right there.” Morris pressed the button again. “I’m sorry, Tom, what were you saying?”

The timing was perfect. “You know, Morris, it would be better if you talked to Randy directly. I’ll let him know our meeting went well and pass along the message that you’d like him to get in touch. I really appreciate your time.”

Ethan shook Morris’s hand firmly and headed toward the doorway. He was just outside the glass door when Morris stopped him. A few employees were milling around in the hallway, chatting, and they looked over curiously.

“Hey, Tom, wait a minute there.” Morris leaned in close, well beyond the boundaries of personal space. Immediately Ethan felt trapped. The big man’s voice was low, out of earshot of the other employees. “I know you’re a good friend of Randall’s. I’m ashamed to say I think I need some help here. I understand if you’re not comfortable, but he’s my son…”

“What can I do?”

“If you’re free for dinner tonight, maybe you’d let me buy you a steak and pick your brain about the best way to approach him. The last few times I’ve tried, he’s shot me down.”

It wasn’t hard for Ethan to feign discomfort with Morris standing so close to him. “I don’t know, sir. I’m not sure how Randy would feel about that.”

“No, no.” Morris looked around and moved in even closer. Ethan fought the urge to step away. “I’m not asking you to give away any of his confidences. You’re his buddy, that wouldn’t be right. But I could use some help figuring out what to say. And how to say it. I need to find common ground. He’s my son. He’s never even met Sheila, my fiancée.”