Bo's Café (10 page)

As I step out of the Electra and back into my Mercedes it begins to rain. The streets are shiny and slick as I take an old
and familiar route from Culver City into El Segundo. And I am alone again, heading back to Marriott room 643. The streets
are whispering to me with the sounds of passing cars on wet asphalt. But it’s as if I can’t make out what’s being said. I
miss my wife. I miss my daughter. I want to be back in my home. But something is whispering to me. And I don’t know what it
is.

It’s a whisper that’s been there all my life.

(Saturday Morning, March 28)

I’m sitting at a table in a restaurant a few blocks from the Marriott. Lindsey will be walking through the door in a few moments.
She called Thursday evening to ask if we could get together this morning. We agreed to meet here. We haven’t seen each other
in seventeen days. I think this talk is probably about my coming home. None too soon. The housekeeping staff are leaving extra
soaps, shampoos, chocolates, and shoeshine cloths, hoping for more tips. Much longer and I’ll need to have a yard sale.

As she walks through the door I feel like a kid on a first date. We are both awkward. I get up to meet her.

“Hello, Steven,” she says, offering a cautious hug.

“I ordered you some coffee,” I say. “It should be here in a moment.”

“Thanks. That’s good.”

“Good. I asked him to bring cream too.”

Listen to us. We sound like foreign students in a class, learning conversational English. I almost expect one of us to ask
where the library is.

We sit down and try to make small talk as we consider our menus.

Finally, Lindsey says, “I want this to work, Steven. I really do.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, so do I. I think I’m ready to make it work… I mean, better.”

Our coffees arrive. She methodically stirs in the cream, tapping her spoon on the cup for a long time.

“Steven, I want you to know I love you. I’ve loved you almost since the day we met. That hasn’t changed… . I’ve really been
trying to figure out what to do. I want to work this out together, not apart. But I also want to protect our family. I know
what we’re doing isn’t a plan. I’m just buying time—”

I interrupt. “Lindsey, I think I can—”

“Please”—she motions with her spoon—“let me finish.”

Okay, this is not going as planned.

“Steven, you need to be getting some help. It doesn’t do any good to just have you staying in a hotel. That’s not going to
change anything. I don’t know what you need, or who can help. I’m willing to get help with you, if that’s what we need to
do… . I just can’t take the thought of you coming home all nice and apologetic… until it all builds up again, to have you
beat me down again. I don’t think I could take that.”

“Lin, I’ve kind of been meeting with someone.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, sort of, I guess.”

“Who is he?”

“Kind of a friend of the family.”

“Is he a therapist? A counselor?”

“Not exactly.” I realize trying to explain Andy might actually work against my case. Andy’s probably not who she has in mind.

This chain-smoking old marina guy started talking to me in a sketchy bar I never told you I went to and offered to drive me
around. So we either sit up on a hill in his convertible or we go to this weird beach restaurant called Bo’s.
I really think he’s the guy who can help me!

No, that’s not gonna fly.

I shrug my shoulders and mumble, “He’s a friend of the family.”

“Steven,” she says, tapping her spoon again, “I really think I’m trying to say we just need some more time to figure this
out.”

This is exactly what I was afraid of hearing.

“How much more time were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I need to see something different. If you came home right now, it’d be better for a while. But what would change?”

“I really think it’s different this time, Lindsey.”

“That’s what Alan said you’d say.”

“Alan? Who’s Alan?”

“Just a guy I met at the health club. He’s a clinical counselor. He says that men say it’s going to be different when they
haven’t dealt with anything but want life back to normal.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, my voice starting to rise. I catch myself and try to regain a normal
voice level. “Lindsey, so he’s saying you can never say things are different, or you’re faking it? Don’t you see how stupid
that sounds?”

It’s quiet. Lindsey’s tapping her spoon again, as if she’s waiting for me to explode.

I look at her, wanting a response. “Well, don’t you?”

She takes a last sip of coffee and says while getting up from her chair, “Steven, this isn’t going right. We probably need
to try this later.”

“No, it’s fine, Lin. Let’s just talk.”

“Steven, I’m still scared. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want us back home together. This is not good for any of us. But
it can’t be like it was. Something really does have to be different. And I’m not hearing it today. I don’t know what else
to say. Let’s talk on the phone about finding someone to help.”

I decide anything I say is only going to make it worse. So I hug her and tell her I love her and let her go as I stay to pay
for the coffees.

Ten minutes later I’m sitting in my car in the Marriott parking garage. And for the first time I realize this might not get
better. She’s never had the nerve to do this before. Now that she’s risked it, she’s not going to lose this chance. I have
no idea what to give her to let her know it’s going to be better. I feel like I’m losing my family. Jennifer probably has
about given up on having a dad. I have no idea what she does when she goes to Molly’s or most of the places she goes. When
I ask her, she answers with as few syllables as possible. I don’t know how to break into her life after spending so long outside.
I feel as if we’re one of those lights Andy talked about when we were up on the hill—a home where the daughter is pulling
away though she never would have dreamed of it as a little girl.

And I know my wife. She wouldn’t have brought up this guy Alan except to warn me about something that’s probably already started
to happen. My wife’s letting herself fall for someone else.

I shuffle my way up to my room, past the lobby and the huge, clear container of fresh-mint-and-strawberry-infused water, past
the smiling employees calling me sir, past the crowd of new guests excitedly drinking the mint water for the first time. Past
the elevators with young families dressed for a day at the beach… to my room. I collapse on my bed, staring again at the picture
of fruit.
I wonder if I could tip someone to get this crappy picture out of my line of sight.

I grab the channel changer and find ESPN 2. It’s early. My only option is nonconference college lacrosse—Akron against George
Mason. It dawns on me that all the things I felt deprived of living at home, I can’t drum up interest for now that I’m free
to do them. What kind of irony is that? I am an important, sought-after, rising young executive, with enough money to do whatever
I want, and I’m lying here on top of my shiny hotel bedcover in the middle of a Saturday watching nonconference college lacrosse.

George Mason wins 7–4.

(Early Afternoon, Thursday, April 2)

Day 22. Lindsey and I have not spoken since our meeting on Saturday. I worked in my room last night so I could justify taking
part of the afternoon off today. I’m going to Bo’s. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have gone there on a bet. But for some reason,
it seems like where I most need to be right now.

Bo himself greets me at the top of the patio steps. “Well, look what the catfish brung in. What the deal is with you? Better
you look in da suit!” He yells out, “Hey everybody, the suit, he is back!”

I lean in toward the big man. “Bo, why are you doing that? Why are you calling me ‘the suit’? I intentionally dressed down
so you wouldn’t call me that.”

Bo just laughs, saying, “Suit is as suit does,
cher
.” He slaps me on the back. “Git on in here now!”

Much of the crowd is the same. But there are some here today I don’t recognize. And I don’t see Carlos or Hank. But there,
at the same table, are Cynthia and Andy.

Andy seems genuinely happy, surprised, and flustered to see me. “Steven! Hey, you came. Come here and join us.”

He pulls out a clunky wooden chair and motions for me to sit.

“Welcome back. Did you give Bo your order? Never mind, he’ll bring you what he wants anyway.”

He stops a busboy and orders me an iced tea.

“You remember Cynthia.”

Her flowing skirt is even more colorful than the one she wore last week. Bracelets dance across the table as she reaches for
me. She stands and gives me a warm and genuine hug. I smile, feeling more welcome here than I do at the office I’ve been at
for years.

“Hello, my dear,” Cynthia says. “So, we didn’t run you off completely, I see. It’s so good to see you.”

“Hello, Cynthia. How’s the book coming?”

“Pamphlet, dear. A trifold pamphlet. And it’s coming along fine.”

These two are not what I’d expect out of mentors. She’s sharp as can be, but neither of them seems very intentional about
anything. They wouldn’t last a month in my world.

A busboy distributes iced tea and a fresh glass of ice for Andy.

I look across the table. “So, let me try to piece things together here. Cynthia, whatever it is that Andy’s been trying to
do with me, you’ve been doing with him?”

“Something like that, I guess,” she says.

“I’ve got a dozen questions. Andy here seems bent on answering every question
except
the ones I’m asking.”

“Ask away, my dear,” she says, adjusting her chair. “Ask away.”

“Andy,” I say, peering at him, “you okay with this?”

Andy nods. “It’s actually one of the reasons I brought you here last week. Do you mind if I stay?”

“That’s fine. So, Cynthia. Andy sets up a time to get together. He makes this big deal about us meeting. And I’m thinking
we’re really gonna get after some stuff. I don’t know, whatever a counselor-type does. I’ve got some stuff to work on, and
a wife who wants me to work on it, let’s say. But Andy won’t bite. It’s like he doesn’t take me seriously. To be honest, it
feels like I’m wasting my time. Did you teach him that?”

She tilts her head as though she’s not been asked this before. “Well, maybe a little bit of yes and no. I’d like to think
I was probably a little more subtle than Andy can be.” Cynthia gives Andy a knowing wink. “Let me see if this helps. Andy’s
really not so concerned right now about your particular issues.”

“Is that so?” I smile sarcastically. “Well I, on the other hand, happen to be kinda concerned about my particular issues at
the moment.”

“Yes, I understand,” she answers. “I mean, he’s more listening for a way in, before he tries to approach those issues.”

“Come on. That’s so weak,” I say. “That’s what people in my world say when they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“All right,” she says. “Steven, do you mind if I treat you like a regular?”

I know that language. It means, “I’m about to get in your face.”

“Whatever. I’d just like a straight answer from someone. You’re all aware I have a job and a family, right? These little soirees
aren’t built into my schedule. I do have an actual high-pressure career here.”

“Steven, your issues come and go, don’t they, dear?” Cynthia asks. “Some will be with you for the rest of your life. But it’s
not like you solve a couple and then you’re done. Two hundred and twenty some are waiting in the wings. Ones you can’t even
see or feel yet. You don’t even know they’re problems yet.”

She’s doing that too-close thing again, looking into my eyes as if she can’t go on until she finds some kind of permission
in there.

“Do you understand?” she asks. “Andy’s looking for access to the person named Steven. Nobody’s had that for… well…”

“Maybe ever,” I finish, giving Andy a glance. “It’s not the first time it’s been mentioned.”

“Yes, nobody’s had that for maybe ever,” she repeats. “And all of this takes time. It’s maddening if you’re trying to fix
this or that before anyone has access. Andy wants to stand
with
you in your issues. Because he knows nothing will change otherwise. So he’s got to somehow—and here’s the magic—create an
environment where you’ll feel safe enough. And I’m guessing that you, Steven, aren’t nearly there yet, are you, dear?”

“Why do you say that?” I ask. “How do you know that? I’m here, aren’t I?”

She puts her hand on mine. “Why don’t you tell me? As much as Andy’s gotten inside the wire on you a couple of times, hasn’t
this thought crossed your mind more than once?
This has been pretty nice. Maybe just getting away from my world a few times will help clear my head, give me some perspective.
But it’s probably the last time I’ll get together with this guy. He’s interesting and even has some insights that might actually
help
—
if I weren’t a rising executive but a marina operator.
Hmm?”

After a pause, looking away from Andy, I quietly answer, “Maybe a little.”

She is silent again, still studying me.

“Yeah,
maybe
. See, Steven, you’re the last person anyone should listen to about solutions for you because you’ve got it all distorted
and you’re convinced you’re right. You live twenty-four hours a day in your self-contained world, where everything is about
appearances, performance, bottom lines, leverage, and control. But the truth is, as confident as you try to appear, my guess
is you don’t feel adequate for the job. Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty sure you’re
all that
, but you’re not sure everyone else agrees. So, you’re worried, afraid that you’re failing. You even blame yourself. But VPs
aren’t supposed to condemn themselves. “So you create this world where on one hand you hate yourself for what you suspect
is true, and on the other hand you idealize yourself and blame others for not acknowledging the brilliance of this idealized
person. Both of these make you blind to what God might be trying to tell you. And that’s when the lights go out and you start
tripping over end tables.”