Funny to Hear from You

Every day that Patrick Bowles came into the office he wore slacks and a button-up shirt. He wore leather shoes and he shined them. He was known all around the place for having blazers. It was a silly cause for acclaim and Patrick would be the first to admit that. But the dress code at Innoventis, a kind of consultancy for successful business tactics, was relaxed because that had become the really edgy thing. A business culture that was modern — and they were pushing this with their clients all the time — was not somber and intimidating. Suits, creased pants, collared shirts; these were threatening and stifling things. So at Innoventis people dressed as if they were at home. They wandered the office in short sleeves, running shoes, and jeans. Sweatclothes were creeping in. Sometimes polo shirts would turn up as a gesture at formality. At least the wearer might look professional in a mug shot, with the three buttons at the throat like a winking joke. But the word ‘lapel’ was a lot like the word ‘phonograph’. For so many of the young men wearing anything with a collar on it had become a kind of ancient and mysterious art.

So Patrick stood out because of how he dressed. On top of that his excellent performance record was generally known. People whispered about it. Around the office Patrick generated an extraordinary gravity. The t-shirt wearers were privately in awe. He was the willing grown-up among them. With that light on him everything Patrick did seemed monumentally important. He could make picking up the phone seem deft and masterful.

All this created the illusion that he was a striving and passionate man. Actually Patrick had a great talent for the work he did which carried him through his indifference to it. He was not an eager workplace climber. He had almost no pride in a business achievement except through the admiration and appreciation of other people. And the clothes? He didn’t mind being unusual that way. Patrick needed to have a uniform for work, something he could leave in the closet so he didn’t soil his civilian life with the exhausting residue of business.

It was the middle of the afternoon. Patrick was crossing the office from the elevators when he saw Paul Dent coming to intercept him. Patrick brightened. He often didn’t see a better friend all day than Paul Dent.

Paul asked him, “Where are you coming from?”

“They had me at a lunch with a client.”

“Ooo. I know that went well.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Doesn’t it always go well?”

“Are you the one who’s been spreading that rumor?”

“Not I.” Paul put up his hands. “But I saw they gave you the torch again.”

The torch was another part of the fun, edgy culture of the Innoventis office. It was a brass thing like a paperweight. It had come back with one of the directors from New York. It was shaped like the torch the Statue of Liberty carried. Somehow, probably starting as a joke, it had become a bauble, a motivational tool. Now it was given out weekly to be displayed on the desk or high on the shelf of a deserving employee.People talked about the torch as a gag, which barely disguised the jealousy that surrounded it. Patrick thought it was a gauche award and he was trying to talk management out of the practice. But it did come with a small bonus.

Patrick frowned. “I hate to see that thing around. I don’t know why they think that’s a good idea.”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never got it.” The gibe had no malice in it. Paul was too sensible to be caught up about anything as trivial as the torch. It was one of the jokes between them. “Come take a break with me.”

“No, I just got in. I should sit down.”

“Alright.”

Paul went away and Patrick went reluctantly to his place. He didn’t have an office or even a cube to himself. He had a phone, a computer, and a chair at a long table of other stations just like his own. But his was at the end against a wall. A divider rose a few feet out of the table behind the monitors so that when Patrick sat down he was hidden from most of the room, giving him almost a corner of privacy. There up on the divider was the torch. What a stupid thing, he thought. But was he proud too? He always used to tell Meg these kinds of things. But don’t, he told himself. Don’t. But there was the phone in his hand and he’d brought up the number for Meg Schwartz. He wondered if she would even pick up.

It rang and rang. He thought, of course she won’t pick it up. Then when she did he felt like he wanted to shout his gratitude.

“Patrick, hello.” She never abbreviated his name in all the time they had been together.

He dropped into his chair.“Hey, how are you Meg?”

“Good.” Her voice was cautious but not hard. “How are you?”

“I’m at work. They’ve given me the torch this week.” He explained the torch to her. “It’s so stupid. It comes with a little bonus though.”

There was a silent beat. “That’s so good. You deserve it.”

He heard her take a breath. So Patrick went on, but with a sudden fear. “You can’t see me smiling that you said that.” He wanted so badly to go on talking casually with her. It suspended something tremendous in him. “What should I do with the money?” He wanted her to say anything.

“Patrick.” His full name again. It thrilled him. Then there was another voice too far from the phone to hear clearly.

Patrick asked, “Are you at work?”

“I’m home. My boyfriend and I are putting a movie on.”

Patrick put his elbows on his desk to prop up his head. “Ah. What movie?”

“I can’t talk a lot right now.” She was sorry. She knew she’d cut him. She lowered her voice. “Tell me. Is everything ok?”

“Of course.” He squeezed his eyes shut. He put one hand over them. “I got the torch. I told you. That’s all.” But that was more worthless than ever. Even the little pride had blown away.

She laughed at this. He’d made her laugh. She said, “Good. Funny to hear from you. I really should go now.”

“Yeah. Ok.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye Helen.” Then he ended the call so that she couldn’t. He put his head down with his cheek against the hard surface of the desk.