Teddy Wayne - Kapitoil

I had to consult with someone. There was only one person I could think of who was not upset with me now and who I thought could help me.

“No, you’re not bothering me,” Barron said on the telephone after I told him I didn’t require a ride. “How’s your lady friend?”

I said Rebecca was fine. But I truly wanted to speak about Mr. Schrub, although of course I couldn’t reveal the full details of the situation to Barron. So I said, “Barron, what do you advise in a situation like this: Another party has given one great trust, and one would like to trust the other party, but one slightly believes one possibly should not trust everything about the other party.”

Barron said, “Slow the hell down. If you say the words ‘trust’ and ‘one’ and ‘the other party’ one more time, I’m going to hang up. This is about Rebecca, right?”

This would be a convenient way to discuss Mr. Schrub, but I didn’t want to lie to Barron. So I said, “I would not like to identify the party or parties involved.”

“You don’t make this easy,” he said. “Let me ask you: Are you the kind of guy who doesn’t usually trust people?”

I stood in the middle of a cluster of business people waiting to cross Pine St. “No, I believe most people have positive values and goals and merit faith.”

“That’s a nice attitude, but it’s dangerous. Especially in this city — it’s full of phonies.” I asked what phonies were. “Fakes, frauds, exploiters, if that’s a word. You’ve got to watch your back. And if you think someone’s trying to stab it, you have to turn around and confront them.”

I was afraid Barron would say this. Typically people know what the correct answer is when they search for advice, but they need someone else to state it first. It is similar to flipping a coin to make a decision but knowing what decision you want to make independent of the outcome. Or possibly of praying for an outcome that ultimately you have the power to influence.

“On the other hand, Rebecca is no phony,” he said.

“Rebecca is not the other party. Please do not hang up.” It was time to ask him for a major-league favor. “I have a contract someone wants me to sign, and I am uncertain about its contents. Are you skilled at deciphering legal language?”

“What, because I’m a cabbie I can’t read?” he asked.

“No, I only meant that the language is—”

“I’m messing around with you. You don’t always have to fear the wrath of the black man,” he said. “I’m okay with that stuff. But my wife deals with it all the time. You could fax it to her.”

“I would prefer not to transmit it via fax.” I thought for a few seconds. “Would you and your family like to come to my apartment for dinner?”

“Your place?” he asked.

“Well, shit, like I said, it’s nothing fancy, but you’re welcome to come over here.” He was surprised and confused by my words. “That is the same sentence you used when you permitted me to do Thanksgiving at your place. I was messing around with you as well.”

He whistled and said, “You’ve got a steel-trap mind there.” He told me he would have to check with his wife but he was fairly certain they could come. I gave him my address, because he drives so many people around and therefore does not have a steel-trap mind for that.

I prepared the same pasta meal I had cooked with Rebecca but utilized gnocchi this time and also blended the multi-fruit juice Michelle enjoyed at Thanksgiving. Barron and Cynthia brought nondairy cupcakes for dessert. It pleased me to be utilizing all four chairs for the first time. We had a pleasant conversation until they discussed what instrument Michelle should learn next year in school.

“Barron wants her to take saxophone,” Cynthia said. “He used to play it. Horribly.”

“And you’d rather have her learn the flute?” Barron said.

“I didn’t say it had to be the flute,” she said. “I said a woodwind .”

“The saxophone is a woodwind!” Barron said. Michelle was creating scalene triangles by lining up pieces of gnocchi on her plate. “I don’t want my daughter playing the flute. The flute is…” He shook his head and cleaned his mouth with his napkin.

“What?” she said. “Say it.”

He removed the napkin. “It’s bougie,” he said. “It’s a bougie instrument for bougie music that bougie people listen to.”

“I listen to classical music,” Cynthia said.

“I’m not attacking you. But we do enough bougie shit already. And I never complain. You want to spend a grand on a couch, I don’t complain. You want to fly to Paris for Christmas, I don’t complain. This is the one thing I’m asking for.”

“Daddy’s asking for,” Michelle said, which was illogical, but children often repeat statements they hear without consideration, even if they are illogical and lacking context. Frequently I had to correct Zahira.

Cynthia was quiet. Then she said, “Let’s talk about this later.”

“No, let’s talk about this now,” Barron said. “Let’s ask Karim what he thinks.”

“Don’t bring him into this,” Cynthia said, and I mutely agreed with her, but Barron was looking at me and I felt I had to provide some input because I was asking them for help as well.

Michelle was resuming her triangles. “Possibly it is best to present her both options, and see which she is interested in and excels at,” I said.

“And she’ll be interested in the sax, like any intelligent person,” Barron said. “Good advice, Karim.” Cynthia looked upset. “Fine, we’ll discuss it later,” he added. “Okay?” Cynthia quietly said okay. It wasn’t the ideal parenting technique, but in some ways it is preferable for both parties to state their opinions, even if it produces arguments.

I said loudly, “I hope the gnocchi has enough earthiness.” No one responded for a few seconds until Cynthia said it was very tasty.

After the cupcakes, I made tea and Cynthia read my contract and I discussed politics with Barron, who knew much about American history and taught me about the 1960s political movements, which was another area I wanted to broaden my knowledge of.

Finally Cynthia said, “The language is complicated, but it looks to me like if you sign this, you’re transferring ownership of the intellectual property to the company.”

She explained the details, but I didn’t 100 % listen to them. I was mute for several seconds before I remembered to thank her. I didn’t want them to ask more questions about what the intellectual property was, and fortunately Michelle yawned and Barron said they should get going. I walked them to the door and closed it behind them and sat down on my floor for several minutes.

Mr. Schrub had lied to me, or he had not told me the complete truth. And possibly he had only invited me to spend time with him not because he liked me, but because he wanted me to trust him enough to sign the contract.

I thought of what Barron said about confrontation. I emailed Mr. Ray again:

Please tell Mr. Schrub I would like to proceed with my own proposal and meet with him again to discuss it.

Then I understood that although Barron’s advice wasn’t about Rebecca, and although she wasn’t a phony like Mr. Schrub was, it was applicable to her to boot. It was cowardly of me to not contact her. You have to confront obstacles and not hope they will be resolved without hard work.

I was going to shoot her an email, but even that was cowardly, so I called her. She answered in a flat voice.

“Rebecca, this is Karim,” I said. I hadn’t strategized, which was possibly foolish, but sometimes it results in saying truer things. “It is my bad for the other night. I have some issues that are independent of you.”