“Where to next?” he’d asked. “Wait, let me guess. The Art Institute?”
I paused beside my rented bike and grinned, delighted that he knew me so well. “Where else? After all, it’s in keeping with today’s theme.”
“We have a theme?”
I moved toward him and took his hands in mine, then lifted myself on tiptoes to kiss him. “Art makes me feel like I’m soaring—and that’s how I’ve felt all day with you. Hanging over the city at breakfast, walking hand in hand. And now, just looking in your eyes.”
“Careful,” he said, with a tease in his voice. “You’ll make me blush.”
I laughed aloud. “That, I’d like to see.”
We left our bikes at the kiosk and continued strolling through Millennium Park toward the Art Institute. “Have you ever been to Europe?” I asked.
“A few times,” he said.
“I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. I want to stand there and feel the power of what those men left behind because it’s important and it’s enduring and—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He reached for my hand and gave me a little tug.
“Nothing, really. Just random stupid thoughts.”
“Those are the best kind for a Sunday afternoon stroll.”
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head in mock exasperation. “I was thinking about my dad. I love him, I do. But there’s no passion in politics. There never has been for me. I did the work and I earned the degree, but it never got inside me, you know? Because it’s not creation, it’s consumption. Politics is all about taking what others created and divvying it up.”
“And yet you’re leaving for Washington.”
I looked away, shrugging. “It’s an excellent opportunity.”
“It is,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him. “But?”
“I just wonder if it’s an excellent opportunity for you.”
I didn’t answer. I’d told Evan once that he truly saw me, but only now did I realize what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. It was one thing for him to know what I wanted in bed. It was something else entirely for him to see so clearly inside of me.
At the time, I’d made a point of brushing his words away like so many gnats. Trivial and meaningless. No big deal at all.
And, because I didn’t want to talk about art or politics or anything that even hinted at what I might want to do with my life, I suggested that we forget about the museum and take a cab to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It had been the perfect solution. We’d left the subject of my work and passions behind and spent the rest of the day walking hand in hand, buying soft-serve ice cream and soda to ward off the heat, then snapping pictures of the animals with our phones and texting them to one another.
It was silly. It was fun. It was just what I’d needed.
And after a dinner al fresco at a small Italian restaurant, we’d returned to the condo. During the drive, I’d fantasized about wild sexual escapades. About bound wrists and spanking and all sorts of new delights forged in Evan’s erotic imagination. The thought had fired me, making me tingly with anticipation. But when we’d reached the apartment, the remainder of the evening didn’t go as I’d planned at all. Instead, we’d made love lazily in the shower, then taken a bottle of wine up to the patio. We’d sat on the love seat, my head on his lap, his fingers stroking my hair, and talked about our day and our lives and everything and nothing.
It was, I think, the most romantic and sensual day of my life. And though I’d originally been drawn to Evan’s wild side, I couldn’t help but fear that somehow, someway, this sweet romanticism was the part of him that was truly dangerous to me.
Now I stood in my tiny cubicle with the memory clutched tight around me. I didn’t want to let it go, much less share it with Esther, for fear that talking about it would lessen its vibrancy in my mind.
Instead, I just smiled, told her I was refreshed, and asked where she wanted to begin. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’m guessing things have been piling up?”
“Now you’re just being silly. Jahn needed you, and we’ve managed to muddle on.” She pulled out my chair and sat in it, leaving me to lean against the desktop. “To be honest, things slowed down while he was sick. As callous as it sounds, we wanted to keep a low profile. Too much exposure might remind people, and then investors might get nervous.”
“And now it’s time to regroup,” I said, essentially telling her that I understood. Howard Jahn Holdings & Acquisitions was in the business of buying and selling businesses, and although Jahn had hired some of the best and the brightest to go out in the world and evaluate all sorts of opportunities, Jahn was still the face of the company. His death was going to change things—no doubt about that. And I didn’t fault the PR department for wanting to publicly downplay his infirmity. Now that he’d passed on, though, there was no avoiding reality.
“It is,” she said. “But I think we’re well covered. I actually wanted to talk to you about shifting your job responsibilities over to the foundation. Things are heating up over there.”
“Because of the transfers?”
She nodded, then settled in to explain more fully. “Our goal is to grow the assets and income of the Jahn Foundation,” Esther said, “and use that increased revenue to start a consistent program of distributions. Education, preservation, and restoration. Your uncle’s interests centered on youth, art, and history. There are too many children who don’t have access to the education they deserve, and too many exceptional documents and canvases that won’t survive the decade much less another millennium.”
“I agree,” I said, though I’m sure I sounded wary. If I was hearing her right, she was asking me to work for the foundation. And that, frankly, would be my dream job.
And then reality hit me. So hard, in fact, that I actually stumbled a bit, and was grateful that I was leaning up against the counter. “Esther,” I said dully. “I’m sure whatever you have in mind would be wonderful. But I’m moving. I’m going to Washington,” I explained, even as she gaped at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I’m going to work on the Hill.”
“Oh.” For a moment, she looked blank. Then her face bloomed. “But, sweetie, that’s wonderful! Your uncle would be so proud of you.”
“Would he?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.
If she noticed anything odd in my tone, she didn’t call me out on it. “My goodness, yes. He adored his brother as much as he admired him. To know that you’re following your dad into politics would have thrilled him.”
“I’m glad of that,” I said sincerely.
“Of course, I’d hoped—but never mind. I’m just chattering on. And this isn’t about me. I’m very proud of you, Angelina.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, this changes things.” She flipped open her folio on my workspace and started sorting through papers. “We’ll just plan to keep you in PR for the rest of your tenure. So why don’t we head into the conference room and we can brainstorm a bit about consumer confidence.”
I paused beside my rented bike and grinned, delighted that he knew me so well. “Where else? After all, it’s in keeping with today’s theme.”
“We have a theme?”
I moved toward him and took his hands in mine, then lifted myself on tiptoes to kiss him. “Art makes me feel like I’m soaring—and that’s how I’ve felt all day with you. Hanging over the city at breakfast, walking hand in hand. And now, just looking in your eyes.”
“Careful,” he said, with a tease in his voice. “You’ll make me blush.”
I laughed aloud. “That, I’d like to see.”
We left our bikes at the kiosk and continued strolling through Millennium Park toward the Art Institute. “Have you ever been to Europe?” I asked.
“A few times,” he said.
“I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. I want to stand there and feel the power of what those men left behind because it’s important and it’s enduring and—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He reached for my hand and gave me a little tug.
“Nothing, really. Just random stupid thoughts.”
“Those are the best kind for a Sunday afternoon stroll.”
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head in mock exasperation. “I was thinking about my dad. I love him, I do. But there’s no passion in politics. There never has been for me. I did the work and I earned the degree, but it never got inside me, you know? Because it’s not creation, it’s consumption. Politics is all about taking what others created and divvying it up.”
“And yet you’re leaving for Washington.”
I looked away, shrugging. “It’s an excellent opportunity.”
“It is,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him. “But?”
“I just wonder if it’s an excellent opportunity for you.”
I didn’t answer. I’d told Evan once that he truly saw me, but only now did I realize what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. It was one thing for him to know what I wanted in bed. It was something else entirely for him to see so clearly inside of me.
At the time, I’d made a point of brushing his words away like so many gnats. Trivial and meaningless. No big deal at all.
And, because I didn’t want to talk about art or politics or anything that even hinted at what I might want to do with my life, I suggested that we forget about the museum and take a cab to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It had been the perfect solution. We’d left the subject of my work and passions behind and spent the rest of the day walking hand in hand, buying soft-serve ice cream and soda to ward off the heat, then snapping pictures of the animals with our phones and texting them to one another.
It was silly. It was fun. It was just what I’d needed.
And after a dinner al fresco at a small Italian restaurant, we’d returned to the condo. During the drive, I’d fantasized about wild sexual escapades. About bound wrists and spanking and all sorts of new delights forged in Evan’s erotic imagination. The thought had fired me, making me tingly with anticipation. But when we’d reached the apartment, the remainder of the evening didn’t go as I’d planned at all. Instead, we’d made love lazily in the shower, then taken a bottle of wine up to the patio. We’d sat on the love seat, my head on his lap, his fingers stroking my hair, and talked about our day and our lives and everything and nothing.
It was, I think, the most romantic and sensual day of my life. And though I’d originally been drawn to Evan’s wild side, I couldn’t help but fear that somehow, someway, this sweet romanticism was the part of him that was truly dangerous to me.
Now I stood in my tiny cubicle with the memory clutched tight around me. I didn’t want to let it go, much less share it with Esther, for fear that talking about it would lessen its vibrancy in my mind.
Instead, I just smiled, told her I was refreshed, and asked where she wanted to begin. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’m guessing things have been piling up?”
“Now you’re just being silly. Jahn needed you, and we’ve managed to muddle on.” She pulled out my chair and sat in it, leaving me to lean against the desktop. “To be honest, things slowed down while he was sick. As callous as it sounds, we wanted to keep a low profile. Too much exposure might remind people, and then investors might get nervous.”
“And now it’s time to regroup,” I said, essentially telling her that I understood. Howard Jahn Holdings & Acquisitions was in the business of buying and selling businesses, and although Jahn had hired some of the best and the brightest to go out in the world and evaluate all sorts of opportunities, Jahn was still the face of the company. His death was going to change things—no doubt about that. And I didn’t fault the PR department for wanting to publicly downplay his infirmity. Now that he’d passed on, though, there was no avoiding reality.
“It is,” she said. “But I think we’re well covered. I actually wanted to talk to you about shifting your job responsibilities over to the foundation. Things are heating up over there.”
“Because of the transfers?”
She nodded, then settled in to explain more fully. “Our goal is to grow the assets and income of the Jahn Foundation,” Esther said, “and use that increased revenue to start a consistent program of distributions. Education, preservation, and restoration. Your uncle’s interests centered on youth, art, and history. There are too many children who don’t have access to the education they deserve, and too many exceptional documents and canvases that won’t survive the decade much less another millennium.”
“I agree,” I said, though I’m sure I sounded wary. If I was hearing her right, she was asking me to work for the foundation. And that, frankly, would be my dream job.
And then reality hit me. So hard, in fact, that I actually stumbled a bit, and was grateful that I was leaning up against the counter. “Esther,” I said dully. “I’m sure whatever you have in mind would be wonderful. But I’m moving. I’m going to Washington,” I explained, even as she gaped at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I’m going to work on the Hill.”
“Oh.” For a moment, she looked blank. Then her face bloomed. “But, sweetie, that’s wonderful! Your uncle would be so proud of you.”
“Would he?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.
If she noticed anything odd in my tone, she didn’t call me out on it. “My goodness, yes. He adored his brother as much as he admired him. To know that you’re following your dad into politics would have thrilled him.”
“I’m glad of that,” I said sincerely.
“Of course, I’d hoped—but never mind. I’m just chattering on. And this isn’t about me. I’m very proud of you, Angelina.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, this changes things.” She flipped open her folio on my workspace and started sorting through papers. “We’ll just plan to keep you in PR for the rest of your tenure. So why don’t we head into the conference room and we can brainstorm a bit about consumer confidence.”
