“Men are not like horses,” she said when I asked about it. “They are like handbags. You keep one until you grow tired of it. Then you find another that suits you.”
“And what about me,” I teased, “am I a horse or a handbag?”
“A handbag, of course! But you are an Hermès. You will never go out of fashion. And you do not make demands.”
Christy snorted playfully. “Speak for yourself.”
“But they are demands that you enjoy, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oh, I suppose,” Christy said with a theatrically winsome sigh. Then she grinned. “We should make our own demands!”
“But of course! A horse is for riding.”
“I thought I was a handbag,” I laughed.
“You are both. Now, please hold still. Ahh, oui, un bon cheval.” She settled her hips and clicked her tongue. “Allez.”
* * *
Trip had already started a new a job by the time Christy and I returned from our honeymoon in the South Pacific. He had one lined up for me with the same company, a large A&E firm. He was excited and couldn’t wait for me to start. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly annoyed. First, that he hadn’t asked what I wanted. But second, that we hadn’t interviewed with anyone on Diana’s list. I told myself that we didn’t have to work at the same company, but he eventually talked me into it. Still, I had serious reservations.
At least the new job paid well, even for interns. Unfortunately, it also came with several layers of management. The department heads and team leaders were bad enough for normal projects, but the vice presidents were involved with the multimillion-dollar ones, and they were a constant source of frustration and delays. I missed the days of Diana and quick decisions.
The company had a different vibe too, far more formal. I had to wear a suit or coat and tie every day, and I had to fill out a detailed time sheet with the jobs I worked on. Worse, the people above me didn’t care about my ideas. With Diana, I’d always felt like a part of the team, like my opinion mattered. Not so with the big company. I was just another cog, and no one even asked my opinion.
Trip thrived in the new environment, while I simmered. I had to remind myself why I went to work some days. I still enjoyed the projects and designs, even if they weren’t my own, but the rigid hierarchy and rules-over-results attitude killed any spark of creativity I might’ve had. Worst of all, nothing I did mattered.
Christy tried her best to keep my spirits up, but it was a losing battle. I eventually called Laszlo to complain, although I should’ve expected his response.
“Do you think Michelangelo started with St. Peter’s? No, he was an apprentice first.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Did Frank Lloyd Wright start with the Guggenheim? No, he was a draftsman first.”
“I know, but—”
“Do you think I started where I am today? No, I was a teaching assistant first. And, like you, I sniveled and complained.”
“I’m not sniveling,” I muttered.
“Are you not?”
“Okay, maybe a little. But still… any of the other interns could do my job and no one would know the difference.”
“Ah, but here is where you are wrong. You would know the difference.”
“So?” I said, a little petulantly.
“Do you remember the quote from Michelangelo?”
“Which one?”
“If people knew how hard I worked to get my mastery…?”
“…it wouldn’t seem so wonderful at all,” I finished.
“Mmm, just so.”
“Yeah, I know. Only… right now I’m wondering if all the hard work is worth it.”
“Imagine what the world would have lost if Michelangelo had thought the same thing.”
“But I’m no Michelangelo,” I said heavily.
“And you never will be if you do not try.”
I snorted, part admission, part dejection.
“The hard work is sometimes not so wonderful,” Laszlo added in a soft, compassionate tone. “I know. But the satisfaction that comes from mastery is worth it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said at last.
“Of course I am,” he said, almost flippantly. “I am the master. And you, my young friend, are still the student. But I will tell you a secret—I am a student too. We are alike in this.” He paused to let his words sink in. Then he said, “We are alike in another way. You do not quit.”
“No.”
“I wish we were not alike in keeping late hours,” he added with a quiet laugh. “I must finish grading papers. I am terrorizing third-year students tonight.”
“Ha!”
“They are not as tender as first-year students, so I must work harder.”
“Good luck with that,” I chuckled. “And Professor…?”
“Laszlo, please.”
“Laszlo… thanks for putting things into perspective for me.”
“My pleasure. Now, if you don’t mind, I must finish my work. And you must get a good night’s rest. You have your own work in the morning.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
* * *
Wren had started a new job as well, as a junior account executive with a midsized marketing company. She was assigned to a senior exec who handled PR and advertising for a local sporting goods chain. She thoroughly enjoyed it and was already in line for a promotion. Then she found out she was pregnant. Trip was thrilled. She wasn’t.
“How did this happen?”
“Probably the usual way,” he chuckled. He was trying to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t having it.
She glared at him instead. “It was Valentine’s Day. I knew we should’ve used a condom! Fuck! Shit! Hell!”
“Hey, babe, calm down.”
“Oh, baby, I wanna come inside you,” she mocked. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“We talked about this,” he said in placating tones. “Remember? We both want kids.”
“Yeah, when I’m ready! Not now!”
Christy and I tried to fade into the background. I thought Wren had been on the pill, but Christy replied with a headshake to my silent question.
I’ll tell you later, she added.
I folded my napkin and set it beside my plate. “Thanks for dinner,” I told Wren. “It was delicious, as usual, but we should go.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, although she was just being a good hostess. “Please stay.”
“You two need to talk.” I stood and bent to kiss her cheek.
She touched my hand on her shoulder and sighed.
“Good luck,” I whispered. “And congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me know if you want me to explain it to him,” I added, loud enough for Trip to hear.
“What? What’d I do?” he complained. “How’m I the bad guy here?”
“You aren’t,” I said calmly. “You’re just… you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you have a plan—”
“Yeah, so?”
“And things are going fine, according to your plan.”
“Well, duh.”
“But there are other people on your team. We have plans too. And your decisions affect us. You need to talk to us before you just make them.”
“Is this about the job? I—”
“It isn’t about the goddamn job!” Wren snapped. “It’s about you. Paul’s right, this is fine for you. But what about me? What about my plan?”
“What do you mean?” Trip said defensively. “This is your plan.”
She inhaled a deep, calming breath. Then she smiled at Christy and me. “Thanks for coming.”
I returned the smile, but I still felt sorry for her. “Dinner at our place tomorrow?”