do.”
“I’ll go to Mr. Demsky.”
“It was his decision.”
“Liar.”
Dwayne shrugged. Before the first segment of Toby a Gentleman launched, he had customarily worn jeans and wrinkle-free khakis with a series of checkered, unironed shirts. He had cussed and slouched. Now he had six Chester Barrie bespoke suits and flew to Jermyn Street once every two years to have new shirts custom-made with hand-sewn button holes, removable collarbones, mother-of-pearl buttons. But no handkerchief! And why he had held on to the cowboy boots was mysterious and regrettable.
“I have a proposal for you.” Toby stood up and placed his hands on Dwayne’s desk. “I have a counter-proposal.”
“I’m not accepting any proposals or counter-proposals. I have to prepare for a conference call, as I mentioned. All this is a real shame, damn it to hell. But you, of all people, will understand how this racist business reflects on the station.”
“I’m not a racist.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“You do have a choice, Dwayne. Stand with me.”
“Just relax.”
“I am relaxed. I’m relaxed!”
“Just rewind a little.”
“Yes. Let’s. Back to the good old days when I had a job.”
“I am sorry. Sorry for everything. Really. Just calm down, be calm, and give me the knife.”
Toby didn’t understand. He looked down. In one hand, he held a pewter letter opener designed to look like a dagger. Dwayne had received it as a Christmas gift from his wife, and occasionally swung it about during conceptualization and strategy sessions. Toby dropped it on the desk.
Dwayne slid the dagger out of Toby’s reach and stood up, a layer of perspiration where his hairline used to be. “This is a real shame for all of us.”
It seemed Dwayne expected Toby to leave now, to walk down the hall of anchors to the loop of middle management. There was nothing left to discuss.
“Do your wife and children know about Alicia? Did you tell Kathia about her?”
The station manager made a fist and chewed on his thumb knuckle for a moment, a tic. He walked around the desk and approached Toby, said gently, “Maybe you have a tape recorder in your pocket.”
“No.”
Dwayne reached up with one hand and pulled Toby by the tie until he fell to the ground, bouncing his forehead off the wooden arm of a chair. Simultaneously, Dwayne slammed his door closed with his other hand. Toby could smell a blur of chemical in the carpet. In school, drama class and membership in the debating club had formed a shield of preciousnessand, in the constellation of high school brutes, pointlessness around Toby. He did not have a brother.
With sinister tranquility in his voice, Dwayne whispered, “I don’t want to hit you.”
“Don’t hit me.”
“But if you ever, ever so much as hint at hurting my family, I’ll find you and I’ll fucking hit you. I’ll hit you hard.”
“You’ve been abundantly clear, Dwayne.”
“Hard.”
“Clear and merciful.”
Dwayne pulled Toby back up to his feet, again using his tie. He then loosened Toby’s tie and fixed his left lapel. Opened the door. “You know, it’s been a real treat working with you, Toby. A real treat.”
The lights were off in Alicia’s office. She sat in a wicker chair near the window with a cup of coffee and Lawrence, her stuffed owl. All he had really wanted, down the hall, was to make her feel ashamed and to draw something—anything—for himself from her shame. Now he just wanted her.
She looked at him and looked away.
“You might have apologized, Allie.”
“I might have.”
“Never once did I cheat on you. Never once did I consider it. Not that I didn’t have opportunities.”
“My sincerest congratulations.”
Toby knew she was not in love with Dwayne. It was not in her to fall in love with a married man who occasionally contracted pink eye from his children. It did not work that way for her. “If you promise, and I mean really promise, to stay loyal to me,
“I’ll go to Mr. Demsky.”
“It was his decision.”
“Liar.”
Dwayne shrugged. Before the first segment of Toby a Gentleman launched, he had customarily worn jeans and wrinkle-free khakis with a series of checkered, unironed shirts. He had cussed and slouched. Now he had six Chester Barrie bespoke suits and flew to Jermyn Street once every two years to have new shirts custom-made with hand-sewn button holes, removable collarbones, mother-of-pearl buttons. But no handkerchief! And why he had held on to the cowboy boots was mysterious and regrettable.
“I have a proposal for you.” Toby stood up and placed his hands on Dwayne’s desk. “I have a counter-proposal.”
“I’m not accepting any proposals or counter-proposals. I have to prepare for a conference call, as I mentioned. All this is a real shame, damn it to hell. But you, of all people, will understand how this racist business reflects on the station.”
“I’m not a racist.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“You do have a choice, Dwayne. Stand with me.”
“Just relax.”
“I am relaxed. I’m relaxed!”
“Just rewind a little.”
“Yes. Let’s. Back to the good old days when I had a job.”
“I am sorry. Sorry for everything. Really. Just calm down, be calm, and give me the knife.”
Toby didn’t understand. He looked down. In one hand, he held a pewter letter opener designed to look like a dagger. Dwayne had received it as a Christmas gift from his wife, and occasionally swung it about during conceptualization and strategy sessions. Toby dropped it on the desk.
Dwayne slid the dagger out of Toby’s reach and stood up, a layer of perspiration where his hairline used to be. “This is a real shame for all of us.”
It seemed Dwayne expected Toby to leave now, to walk down the hall of anchors to the loop of middle management. There was nothing left to discuss.
“Do your wife and children know about Alicia? Did you tell Kathia about her?”
The station manager made a fist and chewed on his thumb knuckle for a moment, a tic. He walked around the desk and approached Toby, said gently, “Maybe you have a tape recorder in your pocket.”
“No.”
Dwayne reached up with one hand and pulled Toby by the tie until he fell to the ground, bouncing his forehead off the wooden arm of a chair. Simultaneously, Dwayne slammed his door closed with his other hand. Toby could smell a blur of chemical in the carpet. In school, drama class and membership in the debating club had formed a shield of preciousnessand, in the constellation of high school brutes, pointlessness around Toby. He did not have a brother.
With sinister tranquility in his voice, Dwayne whispered, “I don’t want to hit you.”
“Don’t hit me.”
“But if you ever, ever so much as hint at hurting my family, I’ll find you and I’ll fucking hit you. I’ll hit you hard.”
“You’ve been abundantly clear, Dwayne.”
“Hard.”
“Clear and merciful.”
Dwayne pulled Toby back up to his feet, again using his tie. He then loosened Toby’s tie and fixed his left lapel. Opened the door. “You know, it’s been a real treat working with you, Toby. A real treat.”
The lights were off in Alicia’s office. She sat in a wicker chair near the window with a cup of coffee and Lawrence, her stuffed owl. All he had really wanted, down the hall, was to make her feel ashamed and to draw something—anything—for himself from her shame. Now he just wanted her.
She looked at him and looked away.
“You might have apologized, Allie.”
“I might have.”
“Never once did I cheat on you. Never once did I consider it. Not that I didn’t have opportunities.”
“My sincerest congratulations.”
Toby knew she was not in love with Dwayne. It was not in her to fall in love with a married man who occasionally contracted pink eye from his children. It did not work that way for her. “If you promise, and I mean really promise, to stay loyal to me,
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