Dreams I Cannot Dream Ch. 01

I checked the bedside clock.

"Night, Lucy. Watch over me."

* *

"If we're going to do this, I'd rather we do it right."

The whole of LiveTrade stared at me blankly. I rattled off a few basic points I had prepared. The developers took notes. It was half an hour before I had assigned everyone a role and given them something to improve. Everything from the user interface to the workflow to the data storage could do with some tinkering.

Lunchtime did not come soon enough. I left the buzzing of the office and settled down in the cafeteria with one of their staple lunches.

I was three-fourths of the way through the miserable steak imitation when I heard a chair from the adjoining table dragged opposite to me. I looked up and saw Amanda put her briefcase on the floor beside her and sit down.

I really had nothing to lose. If she was going to publicly berate me for my advances, so be it. There was no way I could feel any worse than I already did - every single waking moment of every living day.

"Do you have a restraining order in that suitcase of yours?" I asked, flippantly.

"I'm sorry?" she seemed genuinely taken aback.

"It's about me dropping by your office yesterday, isn't it? I really should have tried calling first."

"No, it's not that."

That got my interest fast. I put my fork and spoon down and looked at her.

"I looked you up from our alumni website. You're like the only person in the Alumni in the News section."

"Doesn't say much for the rest of our batch," I said dryly. "Did you perhaps remember me from class now?"

"I still couldn't," she said with a shake of her head. "But I did read all about you and felt so bad about the way I treated you yesterday. So I came here to apologize."

"It's not your fault. You can hardly expect every creep who shows up at your office to be a recent widower."

Amanda looked unsure of how to react.

"Relax, Amanda, you're fine with me."

"Still, I wish I had been more polite."

"It really is okay," I reassured her.

"If it makes you feel any better, you're easily the most famous guy in our batch now. Hell, you could even be the most famous guy in our school's history."

"Perhaps until one of our less stable alumni snaps and decides to shoot up a supermarket. That would certainly put me in second place."

She stared at me for a few uneasy seconds until I grinned.

"My sense of humour could do with some help. As you can guess, I was never the most social person."

"Spoken like a true geek," she smiled. It was high school once again and I was splitting my time evenly between trigonometry and the side view of her face.

Correction, I spent more time on the side of her face.

Further correction, trigonometry drew the short straw. The tiny side view of Amanda's face was all I could focus on. It made me want to see my therapist again so I would get better and keep coming to school.

"Hello, Earth to Jason?"

I snapped out of my memories in time for her to get a tray full of edibles for her lunch.

"If you're not too busy, maybe we could sit down and talk some more?" Amanda asked hopefully.

YES. YES. A thousand times yes. My teenage brain screamed with delight.

If I was capable of actually feeling that delight, that would definitely have been the time for it.

* *

Sunday in Manhattan meant that I had a non-optional dinner invitation in Tribeca. Not going would automatically signal to the inviter that I was on the brink of death and soon enough the FBI, CIA and every other three-letter agency on Washington would come bearing down on my apartment at her behest.

Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but with Jean Catherine Saunders, I never knew for sure. Neither did I want to find out.

I put on the most expensive clothes I had, or the only clothes which would let the doorman allow me in. Even so, I got a long stare from him.

Ten storeys up and I was in her corridor. I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes early. Jeannie liked punctuality.

I hastily smoothed out my hair and straightened my shirt. The door opened and a well-dressed man in his thirties walked out. He passed me in the corridor, giving me a knowing smile and a wink that made my balls crawl back into my body.

Nevertheless, I rang the bell and was soon answered from the other side.

"Jesus, you're already here? Damn! Give me a couple of minutes to straighten myself out."

I waited patiently until the door swung open to reveal Jeannie with a huge smile on her face. I fleetingly wished I had it in me to smile like that before she engulfed me in a bear hug.

"It's so good to see you again," she said with a quick peck on the cheek before escorting me inside.

The apartment was large and lavishly decorated, appropriate for her. Paintings and antiques adorned most of the space. On the coffee table sat half a bottle of Scotch and the burnt out ends of two cigarettes were in the ashtray. I gave her a long side-eye as she went and sat down.

"Sorry I started without you," she said.

"You're drinking again?"

"Yeah, Jason," she said, pouring out the golden liquid into two glasses. "Don't act shocked. I've quit like six times in the last ten years. Take the hint."

"And I suppose that was future husband number five I met in the hallway earlier?"

"Not husband number five material, that's for sure. As of now, he's Sunday."

"Sunday? You have one for each day of the week?" I quipped back.

"Well, I used to have two Saturdays before Immigration sent them back to... I'd like to say Mexico, but I never bothered to ask."

Smoking like a chimney. Drinking like a fish. Being ridden more often than Space Mountain.

Jeannie was doing all right. She was about the same every time I saw her.

"Besides, election season is around the corner," she went on, handing me a glass. "If I start drinking now, maybe I'll be drunk enough to get through the next year without stabbing someone."

"I saw your boss on the news last week. Looks like he won't be our next Senator."

"But he will be an internet sensation for quite some time," Jeannie chuckled.

"How can Jerry King be that flagrantly homophobic and then get caught with a barely legal twink in a hotel room?"

"Three barely legal twinks," Jeannie corrected. "Don't you just love how every news channel alternates his rabidly anti-gay speeches with his perpwalk?"

"The King is dead. Long live the King," I said, raising my glass for a toast.

"It didn't take long for the Sterling camp to approach me, though. I got an offer yesterday to be their campaign manager for the upcoming election."

"You really think that's a good idea?" I asked. "You've been on the opposite side for so long."

"I've wanted to leave that asshole, King, for just as long. His politics were useless. The days of winning elections with "death to gays and abortionists" is gone and he was too old to get that into his head. His approval ratings were already going to hell. The only reason I stayed was a stupid clause he had put into my contract way back when. Now that he'll never be anything more than a tasteless meme, I'm free to go wherever I want."

She emptied the rest of her glass and poured herself some more.

"Besides, who do you think told the media the hotel and room number?" she winked salaciously.

"But will Sterling's camp welcome you after all the work you've done against them?"

"Let me tell you an axiom in politics, brother dearest," she slurred. "Grudges are only important if they get you more votes. Otherwise, if your constituents would like you to get on all fours and take it from behind, you will do it and you will smile for the cameras while you do. When Sterling shakes my hand at his next press conference and smiles, he will hate me from the core of his heart, but he will also learn to accept that I am the only one who can make him Senator and more."

"And more?"

"I've done my research, Jason. His background, his policies, his record. Five years later, we will talk about Dylan Sterling as the success story of our generation."

"Speaking of success stories," she began. "How's the new company?"

"Don't get me started. Those kids don't have the faintest clue what they are doing. Their business model is laughable, their short and long term goals are non-existent and their tech needs a major overhaul. The only thing they have going for them is the core idea. I'm not exaggerating, Jeannie, it's a game-changer. If only they can get the rest of it right, LiveTrade will be in every share trading platform in three years."

"That's quite a bold prediction."

"I put my money where my mouth is," I said, pouring myself some more Scotch. "I'm going to give them five million now and five more for the next stage of their launch."

"You're handing them ten mil, just like that?"

"It will be worth a hell of a lot more after their IPO," I said with a satisfied grin. "These kids have a goldmine on their hands, the only problem is that none of them know how to start digging."

"Good for you then," Jeannie beamed. "I'll make an investment too, if you care for it. Probably not ten mil, but substantial nonetheless."

"We'll take whatever we can get."

Jeannie drunkenly reached over, slung her arm over my shoulder and snuggled up to me. Her breath was a cocktail of nicotine and alcohol.

I hugged her back.

"Jeannie, I can't cry. I want to cry for Lucy, but I don't know how. I still miss her."

"Shh..." Jeannie said, holding me tighter. "Let it go. You grieve differently from all of us, but you grieve all the same."

She pulled her face back and wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes.

"You look much better this week. You really do," she said softly. "I'm so proud of you and how far you've come."

"Thanks for looking out for me, Jeannie."

"Thanks won't cut it this time, bro. I didn't drag you all the way from California to New York just so you could be alone again. I'm going to set you up with a friend of mine. She's an investment banker at Goldman Sachs-"

"Actually," I interrupted Jeannie mid-sentence. "I may have already met someone."

"Hold the presses," she yelled dramatically. "My dopey little brother finally met someone. Did it involve a chloroform rag?"

"Not yet, although that is my backup plan," I laughed. "It's Amanda Rossi from school."

"Prom queen Amanda Rossi? Amanda Rossi, who you had this huge crush on?"

"The very same. Nowadays, she goes by Amanda Rossi, Esquire. She has an office in the same building where the company is."

"She became a lawyer? Figures, I guess. Jurors won't be able to take their eyes off her boobs long enough to care about the evidence. Is she any good at it?"

"I don't know yet. I am having lunch with her tomorrow, so I'll ask."

"How's that going then?" Jeannie asked interestedly.

"To start off, she didn't recognize me. Then, she looked me up on the alumni website and... I'm a much more interesting person to her now."

"She looked you up. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, she told me so herself. Why?" I asked.

"Because she now knows how rich you are. I bet that's why she's suddenly so interested in you."

It took a few seconds for her words to sink into my brain. Logically, it made sense, but there was this age-old wall between wrong and Amanda that refused to give. Jeannie's tone and expression turned abruptly serious.

"What did she say to you? I mean, what exactly." It was officially an interrogation now.

"Nothing specific," I shrugged. "She asked me about how I've been coping and where I stay."

"Did you tell her about your depression?"

"You know it's something I prefer to keep to myself."

"Damn, that sly bitch. She thinks she can take advantage of a recent widower's depression and squeeze him dry. That's low, even for a lawyer."

"She hasn't-" I began, only to be cut off by a pad and a pen landing on the table before me.

"There. Write down everything Amanda's told you about herself. Where she lives? Where she works? Don't miss anything out."

"What're you going to do with this?" I asked, not entirely sure I wanted the answer.

"I'll have some of my best investigators look into her. If she has money troubles, or a history of fucking rich men for their money, I need to know."

"But-"

"No buts. I promised I'd take care of you and this is a part of that. The guys I have in mind are good. They're the ones who dig up dirt on politicians I need dirt on."

I put my drink down, suddenly not in the mood any more. Jeannie looked at me sympathetically.

"I know you want to tell me I'm wrong and Amanda is not a money-chasing whore, but I'd rather find that out for myself. You can hate me all you want after I find out everything there is to find about her."

"I need to go," I said, rising from the couch.

"Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm not hungry any more, Jeannie. Good night."

Silence hung in the air for several long moments while Jeannie tried to make sense of my expression.

"Wow. You still love her that much."

She walked up to me and held my hands in hers and raised them to her chest.

"Believe me, Jason, nothing would make me happier than being wrong about Amanda, but until I am, I have to do this. You've lost someone you loved. You're more vulnerable now than you know. If Amanda breaks your heart... well... you and I both know what happens when someone breaks your heart."

As she said this, Jeannie softly traced two scars on my wrists. They were still as visible as eleven years ago, only less bloody.

"It will only take a few days, Jason."

Her thumb continued to trace out my scars as if committing the shape to memory.

"C'mon. Dinner's getting cold."

* *

"Did you like the food?"

"I like what came after," I smiled. The room was dark and we sat with our backs to the wall, staring out of her balcony at the glittering metropolis.

Jeannie held her almost completed joint between her fingers. The end still glowed like a speck in the darkness.

I took a drag of mine and let it sink in.

"You go and tell your new boss that if he can find a way to legalize this shit, he has my vote."

"I'll make sure it's his tagline," she beamed, miming a banner. "Weed for all."

"Seriously, Jeannie, this is some quality stuff. Where'd you get this?"

"A guy with a falafel cart two blocks over. He grows it himself."

I finished my joint and stubbed out the embers.

"It finished too soon," I whined.

"Here, have another one," said Jeannie, procuring another joint and lighting it for my benefit. The lights of Manhattan coalesced into a single source which approached my finger. I poked at it and it burst open, scattering a riot of colours in every direction. The colours then reformed into smaller shapes, rapidly moving back and forth across the room.

"You go and tell Amanda that if she breaks your heart, I will kill her slowly," she slurred from my side. "You got that, sport?"

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"You know," Jeannie coughed through her latest joint. "I read a study somewhere about marijuana being an effective medication for depression."

"I somehow doubt the AMA agrees. Otherwise they'd have a lot more folks with depression lining up for their pills."

We laughed for no apparent reason.

"I ran into Jeff at a fund-raiser last week."

"Jeff?" I said, buying some time to remember through my drug addled haze. "Forty-something Broadway actor. Husband number two who you married on a drunk dare in Atlantic City and who left you to be with a nineteen year old underwear model six months later. Not to mention you slept with the entire cast of his current production to get back at him."

"That's the one," she exclaimed. "He's moved on to his next wife. Her name's Katya and I couldn't understand what she did underneath that horrible accent."

"And let me guess..." I cut her off, mid-sentence. "You and Jeff snuck off leaving poor Katya for a few hours."

"You know me so well, brother dearest," Jeannie said with a laugh.

There was a brief pause while she procured a fresh paper flute.

"The way you absolutely loved Lucy. If I ever found a guy who loved me like that, I'd never let him go. The two of you were perfect."

"Not even close," I corrected. "I loved her so much, but when it came to spending time with her, I was always too busy. There was always this bug to fix, or that module to redesign or that idea to try out. I cheated on her every day with my company."

"That's not the same," Jeannie said, placing a comforting arm on my shoulder.

"It's exactly the same," I went on. "All I ever wanted was to give her the dream life. I'd sell the company and then we'd never work another day ever again. I'd take her to a different European city for each day of the week."

She patiently listened to my rant.

"We had everything ready. The house in Beverly Hills. The cars. I wanted to tell her that everything I ever did was so that we could live like royalty for the rest of our lives, so I could give her anything she ever wanted. On the nights I came home, it was after she was asleep. I saw her for a couple of hours a week and you will not believe how much she looked forward to our time together. She even joked that she needed to set an appointment to see me since I was the CEO.

Can you fucking believe it? The most important person to me in the world said she needed an appointment to see me. I promised myself I would make up these lost years to her and now I'll never get the chance. On that day when I found out, if someone told me that they could bring Lucy back for a day, hell, even an hour, if I gave them all my money, I would've done it in a heartbeat. Just so I could tell her how sorry I was. Just so I could say goodbye."

Fuck, I hated this memory. I swiped my phone open and scrolled back through my call history. It took a few minutes before I found what I was looking for.

"See this?" I said, showing her a call log. "It's from two weeks before she died. The deal was finalized, but there was a compatibility issue with Windows Phone. I worked four straight days and nights to fix it. She called up once, just to tell me that she loved me. She knew that I needed to hear her say that, so she called. That three minute call was all I heard of her that week. If I could go back in time, I'd shut all the servers and drag my ass back home so I could hold her and tell her how much I loved her in person. As if I could ever tell that to all that fucking money I was chasing."

I took a deep breath, emotionally spent from my monologue. The wound was still raw and talking about it felt like having an knife twisted in it. I was used to feeling that way. If there is a God, I deserve all the pain and suffering he gave me for the way I mistreated Lucy. Lucy, that damn fool. She loved me all the same.

Instinctively, I grabbed Jeannie by the collar and buried my face in her shoulder. She continued to listen, not saying a word.

"Even if my fantasy of Amanda is a lie, please don't tell me right away. I need this dream so badly."

She wrapped her arms around me and held me to herself. It was cold on the floor and the lights were still swimming. Hundreds of thousands of brilliant sparks exploded in my head and blinded me in their incandescent glare.

Then, all at once, there was silence, punctuated with a faint horn from the street below. Jeannie didn't say anything, but the way she held me to herself told me that everything would be all right.

I'm jealous of her for being able to believe that.

* *

"I'm hoping the food here is better than that awful cafeteria."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," chuckled Amanda. "It's actually got rave reviews on Yelp."