Mark.”
“What about him?”
“He gave me his two week notice last night. He’s leaving for GE in New York.”
“Why would he possibly want to live in New York?”
“Thomas, did you hear what I said? Mark is leaving. He’s the best damned account rep we got.”
“Why’s he leaving?”
“He says you’re cruel to him.”
I laughed. When I saw Roger wasn’t laughing as well, I stopped.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Thomas, he says you tease him about being gay.”
“So what? I tease Jason about being black, I tease Linda about being Muslim …”
“And you can’t do that. Look, I’ve known you a long time and know you’re one charming dude when you want to be and one serious asshole when you want to be too. Can we just have a little more charming and a little less asshole at the office?”
I put on my best fake smile. Outwardly, I was showing him he had gotten through and I’d be happy to do what I could to help. I knew he liked me, as most people did. I was the perfect friend, the perfect lover, the perfect boss. I became what they wanted to see and only once in a while would my mask slip and reveal the twisted wreckage underneath.
“For you, Roger, anything.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you. Now, when we going golfing?”
“This afternoon?”
“Can’t, client meetings. Tomorrow after lunch?”
“You’re on.”
I waited until he left before standing. My head and upper body caught in the projector’s light and it cast a black shadow on the wall. It was the perfect depiction of myself: nothing on the inside. People would comment to me all the time how charming I was, how witty, how full of life. My ex-girlfriend had told me that her parents loved me more than she did. I was just the right mixture of handsome and successful and mysterious to be appealing.
But I knew the truth. I had no delusions about it. I was the shadow. I was an outline with a dark center that I could never penetrate. And because of this center I couldn’t see the centers of anyone else. So I became what they showed me. When I met a person—and I’d met enough people to have a statistically valid sample of the population—I knew that no matter who they were or where they came from, they would like me.
I would become like them , sometimes unconsciously, but most of the time with an eye toward ensuring that I appeared sympathetic and agreeable. They would think of me as a friend and I wouldn’t know the first thing about how they related to the world, what their hopes were, their dreams, their relationships, their inner thoughts, their motivations … human beings were all a mystery to me.
Two years ago I watched as a woman’s husband drown ed in a pool. He hit his head and sank to the bottom and none of the lifeguards had been paying attention. The woman was hysterical and weeping uncontrollably and I couldn’t figure out why. She was relatively decent looking, not ugly and not pretty. She would find another husband. What did it matter whether it was the corpse at the bottom of the pool or some other loser she found at the grocery store or gym?
It fascinated me the entire length of the day . I drove home, and as I went about my nighttime routine, tried to mimic the sounds she’d been making, the frantic cries for someone, anyone, to do something to save her husband. It wasn’t easy, but it was something that had to be perfected.
I walked out into the hall and past thirty or so cubicles and another dozen offices. Mine was the corner office with the frosted glass walls. I walked in and shut the door behind me. A remote control was on my desk and I pressed a button and the stereo mounted on the wall turned on. I opened iTunes on my computer, which was connected to the stereo, and played some Coltrane.
Just as I was relaxing in my chair with my feet up on the desk, someone knocked on the door and broke my concentration.
“What?” I said.
Char, one of our staff, poked her head in. “Mr. White is here to see you,
“What about him?”
“He gave me his two week notice last night. He’s leaving for GE in New York.”
“Why would he possibly want to live in New York?”
“Thomas, did you hear what I said? Mark is leaving. He’s the best damned account rep we got.”
“Why’s he leaving?”
“He says you’re cruel to him.”
I laughed. When I saw Roger wasn’t laughing as well, I stopped.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Thomas, he says you tease him about being gay.”
“So what? I tease Jason about being black, I tease Linda about being Muslim …”
“And you can’t do that. Look, I’ve known you a long time and know you’re one charming dude when you want to be and one serious asshole when you want to be too. Can we just have a little more charming and a little less asshole at the office?”
I put on my best fake smile. Outwardly, I was showing him he had gotten through and I’d be happy to do what I could to help. I knew he liked me, as most people did. I was the perfect friend, the perfect lover, the perfect boss. I became what they wanted to see and only once in a while would my mask slip and reveal the twisted wreckage underneath.
“For you, Roger, anything.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you. Now, when we going golfing?”
“This afternoon?”
“Can’t, client meetings. Tomorrow after lunch?”
“You’re on.”
I waited until he left before standing. My head and upper body caught in the projector’s light and it cast a black shadow on the wall. It was the perfect depiction of myself: nothing on the inside. People would comment to me all the time how charming I was, how witty, how full of life. My ex-girlfriend had told me that her parents loved me more than she did. I was just the right mixture of handsome and successful and mysterious to be appealing.
But I knew the truth. I had no delusions about it. I was the shadow. I was an outline with a dark center that I could never penetrate. And because of this center I couldn’t see the centers of anyone else. So I became what they showed me. When I met a person—and I’d met enough people to have a statistically valid sample of the population—I knew that no matter who they were or where they came from, they would like me.
I would become like them , sometimes unconsciously, but most of the time with an eye toward ensuring that I appeared sympathetic and agreeable. They would think of me as a friend and I wouldn’t know the first thing about how they related to the world, what their hopes were, their dreams, their relationships, their inner thoughts, their motivations … human beings were all a mystery to me.
Two years ago I watched as a woman’s husband drown ed in a pool. He hit his head and sank to the bottom and none of the lifeguards had been paying attention. The woman was hysterical and weeping uncontrollably and I couldn’t figure out why. She was relatively decent looking, not ugly and not pretty. She would find another husband. What did it matter whether it was the corpse at the bottom of the pool or some other loser she found at the grocery store or gym?
It fascinated me the entire length of the day . I drove home, and as I went about my nighttime routine, tried to mimic the sounds she’d been making, the frantic cries for someone, anyone, to do something to save her husband. It wasn’t easy, but it was something that had to be perfected.
I walked out into the hall and past thirty or so cubicles and another dozen offices. Mine was the corner office with the frosted glass walls. I walked in and shut the door behind me. A remote control was on my desk and I pressed a button and the stereo mounted on the wall turned on. I opened iTunes on my computer, which was connected to the stereo, and played some Coltrane.
Just as I was relaxing in my chair with my feet up on the desk, someone knocked on the door and broke my concentration.
“What?” I said.
Char, one of our staff, poked her head in. “Mr. White is here to see you,
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