Like I said, he wouldn’t give a shit.
That night when I went to Stephen’s apartment to drop off his clothes, he answered the door still wearing his suit. He had ditched the tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, but the phone was still attached to his ear.
He mouthed, Thank you. I’ll text you.
I handed over the basket full of his clothes and said, “You’re welcome” very quietly.
He liked to text me. He thought it was sexy to send dirty messages back and forth, but the less we connected in real life, the more meaningless those texts became.
Sure enough, two hours later, while I was lying in bed, I got a text from him.
Stephen: U looked amazing 2night
I would have normally come back with something like You weren’t so bad yourself, because at least Stephen was trying, and I felt like he meant well, but that night something became very clear to me. I began to visualize a relationship where I felt cherished. I couldn’t make out the face of the person who would be that for me, but somehow I knew it wasn’t Stephen.
I didn’t respond to him for several minutes. Instead, I got on Google and typed in R. J. Lawson. I scoured endlessly boring articles about his early successes and the contributions his inventions had made toward technological advancements in communications and security. There was little, if anything at all, about his personal life. One article showcased a server prototype he had revealed at a science expo, with a picture of him standing next to the machine. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, prepubescent with a mouth full of braces. I searched over and over for additional images, but every time his name was linked to an image, it was either of a computer gadget, the winery, or the logo for a charity organization he had formed. I would go into the interview knowing a lot about R. J. Lawson’s accomplishments and philanthropic work but very little about the man.
Checking the time, I figured I had given Stephen enough of the silent treatment.
Kate: If I looked so amazing 2night then y aren’t u in my bed right now??
Stephen: Early morning meeting. Have a safe trip. See you when you get back.
I didn’t respond. I just fell asleep thinking, I’m all I’ve got.
Page 3
* * *
Journalistic “License”
The next day I flew into San Francisco International Airport at two p.m. My first interview with R. J. Lawson was scheduled for five p.m., and I still had to get out of the city, over the heavily trafficked Golden Gate Bridge, and up to Napa Valley. I hoped that taxis were readily available once I got outside because I wouldn’t have much time to dillydally. I didn’t eat the plane food, so I was starving and starting to get a headache.
As I waited at the baggage carousel, I pulled out my travel itinerary from the coordinator at the Chicago Crier. Under the flight details it showed a reservation number for Avis Car Rental. I immediately dialed Jerry.
“Why is there a rental car reservation on my itinerary?”
“Well, hello to you, too. We got you a rental car because Napa is spread out. I thought you would want to go exploring while you’re there. Plus . . . cab fare just one way would have been more money.”
“I barely know how to drive, Jerry!”
“We have a driver’s license on file for you.”
“Yeah, I got my driver’s license after my high school boyfriend taught me how to drive in a mall parking lot. I haven’t driven since.”
“You press the gas to go, the brake to stop, and you steer with that giant wheel sitting in front of you. How hard could it be?”
“Fine, I just hope you have a big insurance policy. This is going to be a nightmare.” I hung up and reached for my suitcase, which of course was the last one to appear on the conveyer belt.
At Avis, a young female clerk showed me to the car. “I need to do a quick visual inspection to mark any existing damage. I’ll be real quick.”
“Knock yourself out.” I threw my bags in the trunk and then got into the driver’s seat. It was a small Toyota sedan, nothing fancy, but it looked very new. I felt for the ignition and then realized the clerk hadn’t given me the key yet.
She skipped around the car and then stood outside my door. Bending down to look at me through the window, she smiled really cute and said, “No damage, you’re all set, but I think you might need this.”
She held up a little black square. I opened the door. “What is that?”
“It’s your key.”
“How is that a key?”
She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “You’ve never seen push-button ignition before?”
“No.” I’m so in for it. Evidently cars had changed in the last ten years.
The clerk gave me a quick tutorial after I told her I hadn’t driven in a very long time. I think she felt sorry for me.
“It’s just like riding a bike, okay?”