CC Fiction, Chasing Chastity: Part II

By CC Staff

“Glenn,” my husband declared, “this routine has got to change. I accept that you’re in mourning, but you can’t be self-destructive like this.” He was right. We both agreed that I either “suck it up” and get through this first semester as a junior professor or that I resign immediately and look for a job outside of academia. We had this conversation over dinner one night, and just few days before classes resumed.

As I had become accustomed to my new routine of binge-drinking, it was on this rare occasion that I found myself actually sober and even hungry. My husband, Jason, had surprised me with a home-cooked meal of hand made gnocchi – one of his many specialties. Along with his gift for making fantastic Italian food, he also had a special way of giving me advice in the simplest terms. As he poured me a nice glass of Sangiovese, he gave me these two options. Recalling my days as a pianist and listening to the meticulous clicks of a metronome, my ears followed each syllable that rolled off his tongue and onto his lips. And, as I listened my eyes were fixated on that empty wine glass. I watched it change into a brilliant kaleidoscope, bursting with swirls of various deep red hues. Once he had finished speaking, I watched the wine settle, and suddenly I felt a rush of confidence.

“Jason, you’re right,” I said. “I’ll quit this new job and find something different.” That declaration and the agreement we made that late August evening filled me with a type of hope that I had previously thought died with my mother. That renewed hope, however, was soon dashed when I met Jack and his volatile middle-aged ego.

Jack came into my life easily. After I decided to leave my teaching post, which, of course, was not received very well, I didn’t just have difficulty finding a job. I couldn’t even get anyone to call me in for an interview! Since I had taken over Jason’s previous role as the sole breadwinner, I had to find something. That’s when I ended up working at an upscale department store. It was tough work, but at least I knew that our mortgage payments would be covered as well as most of our bills. (I am embarrassed to admit that I had to reach out to my father for some extra money to tide us over).

Working at this store wasn’t so bad, although I was busily hunting for other “real” jobs on my days off, and that was exhausting. Now, despite the fact that I am an academic and therefore used to solitude, I am also quite social. No, that’s a lie. I’m an outright social butterfly. With that type of personality, I’ve always been able to make friends quickly. Sure enough, I had many “good friends” at my new job. One of them was a breathtakingly, beautiful blonde named Cara. Cara worked in lingerie. We were immediately drawn to one another on account of our mutually wicked senses of humor.

Just like many female friendships, Cara revealed intimate details about her personal life with Jack (her fiancé). While I was aware of these types of female relationships in which both women immediately open up about their innermost personal secrets, it was something with which I was not accustomed. Female academics have a tendency to maintain an androgynous, almost male-like persona, even amongst their closet female friends, so oftentimes personal matters are never disclosed (that’s why we all had psychiatrists after all – they were our best friends!) In any event, I found Cara’s complaints that her “big boobs” and the fact that she made no bones about informing me, along with several other new co-workers, that she had had a hysterectomy within 30 minutes of meeting her refreshing as hell.

Cara’s straightforward attitude and feminine openness was new to me; her casual attitude and trust were both incredibly attractive. If only I had listened to my first instincts about the tales she had about her fiancé, Jack.

Cara was immediately attracted to me. I later realized, it was a result of my previous career as a professor at an Ivy League. She treated me as if I were some sort of celebrity. Truth is, she was also jealous. Cara was certainly smart and her sense humor was uncannily similar to my own, but she was also uneducated. This insecurity made her haughty and arrogant; according to her, selling bras was beneath her.

“I’m better than this place,” she always used to grumble over lunch, adding, “and you’re better than this place, too.”

Cara was aware that I was job hunting, so one day she casually suggested, “Why don’t you pass your resume along to my fiancé, Jack?”

“Sure,” I said. That very evening I e-mailed Jack my resume. He immediately wrote back. Jason and I were encouraged by this friendly response:

Hi Glenn! Cara has told me so much about you! As you might already know, I have a fantastic new job. I came in for an interview to be a director of this place, and they ended up hiring me as a V.P.! Your resume is impressive to say the least. There are a lot of people at AFFIXED that have your type of background, so if HR is interested in hiring you, I’m sure you’ll fit right in!

We should (the four of us) go out for dinner. Cara was saying that it would be nice to get all us together. How about Capitoline next Sunday? I’ve already made tentative reservations (see attached), so unless I hear that you two can’t make, I’ll presume you’re in? Cara said that you two love Italian, so I thought this place would be perfect.

-Jack

In terms of conversation the dinner went quite well, and with regard to the food, it was downright superb. Before Jack and I began talking “business,” Cara showed off her new diamond necklace, diamond rings, diamonds this, diamonds that, and then pointed to her to her bag, whispering, “Jack makes, like . . . a hundred and . . . thousand a year.” I scrunched up my face, and whispered, “he makes what?” She slowly stated the amount, but it was still inaudible. I’m pretty sure she said it was some where in the range of $150,000 a year!

Cara also unabashedly admitted to having bad taste. I could tell Jack was embarrassed when she blurted, “I only drink Riesling. That other sh*t is too dry for me.” Even though we were at a five-star restaurant, both of them ordered their steaks well-done. Like a new yet miniature King, Jack made sure to order the ‘surf-n-turf,’ making his meal the most expensive. When the bill arrived, Jason and I were aghast at the cost – it was nearly $600. Jack made no mention of picking up the entire tab (we ended up splitting it two ways). It’s not that we hadn’t eaten at places like that before, but obviously we were on a tight budget, and this wasn’t exactly a special occasion.

We said our good-byes, but as soon as we left and were on our way home, my husband observed, “if you ask me, he didn’t exhibit the best etiquette in that situation. He did, after all, make the reservations for all of us. God knows, I wouldn’t have chosen a place like that to eat this evening. I mean, for Chrissake, doesn’t this guy realize that I’m in law school and you’re working in retail?” That wasn’t a good sign, I agreed. But I figured (and so did my husband) that this dinner might be a big break for me.

As Jack had said, this company had a revolutionary and patented system for market research. He knew for a fact that it was either going public in two years or would be bought by Google. In a word, Jack made it clear that with stock options, most of their employees could easily become millionaires. With that in mind, networking with guys like this, I surmised, might cost a little bit of money in the beginning, but the opportunity seemed worth it.

But Jack had other things on his mind . . .