This story is for those who constantly rail against my humble 750-word offerings. :)
Warning: No BTB
Thanks to kenjisato for editing.
Amazing how many things simply don't change, no matter the years. In the twenty-six years we've known each other, I've never seen Brenda drink anything but margaritas. Sure, colors, flavors and glasses have come and gone, but the core of her pleasure has always come from Margaritaville. Same with me, always a beer of some sort, the basic-er the better. PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) has all the craft I need. And if I step out to places who pull up their noses at the red, white and blue, there's always a Coors or something domestic to keep me company.
Brenda was my big reach in life. In the orientation on our first job after graduation, her beauty and friendliness caught everyone's attention and they let it show. Not me. Why waste my time--I could actually get the time of day elsewhere.
In one of life's mysteries, though, she pursued me. At first, I blew her off. I mean, why? I'd been the butt of enough jokes in high school and college by the cheerleader crowd. Oil and water mix better than them and nerds like moi.
So... thanks but no thanks. Have a nice life in the fast lane, let your jocko boys throw themselves at your feet frothing at the mouth to get a bite from your little apple. I'm good.
She didn't give up, even after my phase two, the 'if it's too good to be true' skepticism we all know. After a while, though, when it looked like no joke was hidden, I accepted her invitation to a housewarming party when she moved into a new apartment.
Let her see the nerdiness up close and personal so she could get the pity craving out of her system, and we both could go our separate--very separate--ways.
By the third invite, my addled brain suspected that maybe, just maybe, the queen might actually not be averse to me. So I took a chance and responded afterward with an invite of my own. In order to give her ample time to see if something better came her way before committing, I asked her out to dinner two weeks from Friday. She accepted immediately. No games.
That got my attention. I couldn't believe her calendar was open--she had to make something or someone else bite the dust for little old me.
So started my education and re-training. Bren's personality matched her million-dollar looks. If it wasn't for the timeframe, I would have been sure they'd used Brenda to model Barbie with her three Bs: blonde hair, blue eyes, and big boobs. Everyone was either a friend or a wannabe friend. We won't mention the horndogs who flat-out made fools of themselves, even while she flushed them down the toilet.
Her looks drew men like nectar attracted bees. At any party, the guys stood three thick around her, vying for her attention so they could take her home to do their bee-sting thing. Oh, and the parties. Keeping with the bee-nectar thing, she was drawn to any social gathering numbering four or more. Not only was she friendly and beautiful, she had the knack to converse about any topic under the sun.
She and I whiled many an hour away while walking or driving, dissecting the merits of every economical or political system known to man. We nerds tend to think we're smarter than 'them,' the shallow, hollow and gullible masses. Brenda, though, under her blond hairdo
du jour,
could counterpoint any argument with logic and facts that left the arguer astounded.
For years, I told myself that our intellectual connection probably was the only reason for her attraction to me. I mean, what else could it be? My six-foot frame, brown hair, hazel eyes and average bod were as unremarkable as they come. In fact, one of my coworkers remarked that I'd make a perfect private eye: sharp observation behind a bland, unremarkable exterior. Compliment or insult? I never could tell. The bottom line was I never figured out what the undisputed queen of every party saw in me.
At first, I didn't care about all the attention she sucked up like a black hole every time we found ourselves in a social setting. She was out of my league and it was only a matter of time before a blinding flash of the obvious struck her, too. She'd realize she could do so much better than me, and we'd part and move along our correct trajectories. Until that time, though, I just lapped up every minute with her I could. And what good minutes they were.
Over all the attention she garnered, she made it clear, over and over, that she was a one-man woman, and that man was me. Wow. Just wow. Gradually, though, my cavalier indifference transitioned into insecurity. Yeah, I know, you'd expect the opposite, but no. Scores of men, appalled at her inexplicable lack of taste, wasted no time to make it clear to me just how unworthy, not to mention temporary, a recipient I was of such undeserved affection and loyalty. My nerdy, logical brain, of course, agreed with them. As I reveled in her company, affection and our togetherness, the thought of losing the highest form of earthly bliss filled my heart with fear.
Fortunately, the passage of time, and two daughters, gradually eased my insecurities. Actions speak louder than words, and her face lighting up with unfeigned joy at seeing me again at the end of each day eventually brought me to a place of accepting the implausible: the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out, loved me and only me. PBR and all.
Our girls completed the idyll. How perfect can life be? Pretty, smart and athletically gifted, both got athletic scholarships to 'name' universities, Tanya with volleyball and Michelle with softball. After graduating, Tanya landed a good job and impending husband in Minneapolis, while Shelley, still in her junior year at Wisconsin, had her eyes on a masters in nursing.
After dropping Michelle off at Madison for the first time, I took Bren out to dinner. "Surprise!" I said when the server brought the requisite 'rita and brewski. With a flourish, I laid out the brochures for the trails of the Porcupine Mountains facing Lake Superior. "We started our married life with an empty nest and lovely adventures." I held up my glass for a toast. "Guess what? We're empty nesters again, and I'm excited to empty-nest anew with the most amazing woman on earth. Wanna join me?"
With a broad smile, she held up her salt-crusted glass and we clinked. "Sure. Where are we going?"
"Remember how we talked about finding unique trails off the beaten path? Someone told me about the Escarpment Trail, and I thought this might be a good place to kick off the new phase of our life."
Bren shook her head and smiled again. "You never cease to amaze me with your thoughtfulness, Nelson. This sounds awesome, tell me more."
--
The script for our idyllic lives dictated that we spend time with each other, taking off on adventures and enjoying our hobbies and passions.
If only.
After three months, Bren became noticeably antsy. Dinner parties and social clubs kept her evening agenda full, but having no kids to mother left a hollow in her days. We'd originally met working for the same company, a financial services giant, she in marketing me as a stock analyst. With the arrival of Tanya, Brenda did the Midwestern mother thing and dedicated herself to being a full-time mom. There's no question that was a big reason our daughters turned out so well. But that time had come and gone, and as our youngest's graduation drew near, Bren's feet itched to return to the corporate world with 'a real job.'
After she'd left our firm to become the world's best mother, I continued with my analyst thing. In a brokerage or investment bank, analysts are employed to dig up reasons why clients should invest in a particular stock the firm wanted to push. The brokers or traders want only good news to push the price of the stock higher. Any analyst who'd dare disclose anything bad about a stock were either fired or shunted into some dead-end job. You guessed it--my nerdiness made me look beneath the surface of any company I investigated. The more I dug the less popular I became. Respected, sure, but unpopular nonetheless, and therefore undervalued and underpaid.
As the previous century drew to a close, our firm thought millions could be made pushing the stock of one particular energy company, and several analysts were let loose to find any and every angle to drive its price up further.
What accounting training I had raised the hair at the back of my neck. This company was a massive fraud--truly an emperor bereft of a wardrobe. Not surprisingly perhaps, Negative Nelson was the only one sounding caution. 'Everyone' from the Wall Street Journal on down fawned over the geniuses running this fountain of gold. Midas had nothing on their management team. In one pivotal meeting, I took a breath and laid out my findings and cautioned against pushing that stock. Ice would have felt warm in the atmosphere.
As we left, I went back to my desk and updated my resume. No way I'd still have a job come Monday.
Unbeknownst to me, a junior VP, Bradley Stevens, had walked out of the meeting and shorted the stock in a big way. Going against what the majority were doing, his strategy would only make money if the stock tanked.
It took a few weeks, but that's exactly what happened. Someone else (or several others) saw what I'd seen, and a massive scandal erupted in the press. Many people lost millions, on Wall Street and in our company. Heads rolled. Bradley Stevens, on the other hand, came out smelling like a rose. A famous and rich rose, fawned upon by management and the press. All his clients and the funds he managed, had at least doubled in value as the market collapsed. Superman could wish for accolades like his. I was not fired.
After the dust settled and a few big shots' heads rolled, Bradley Stevens became a senior vice-president, several of my good-news analyst coworkers disappeared, and I was elevated to senior analyst, with a healthy raise.
Along with my rise in stature came an increase in my required presence at corporate functions and gatherings. Being a Midwestern firm, spouses were almost always included, to Bren's great joy. Her absence from the innards of a financial services firm made not one whit of difference--she commanded an audience with her sheer presence. And, when she decided to return to the work force, it was only natural that her history and familiarity with our firm made us her first port of call. Bradley Stevens wasted not a second, and immediately added her to the marketing team for his division.
Sadly, it takes no rocket science to predict what happened. My insecurities, dormant for two decades, surfaced immediately. Mr. Stevens might have had a hand in my renaissance at our firm, but he was no paragon of virtue. Despite being married and father to three kids, his pen was, shall we say, well-dipped in our company well. Wednesday evenings were occupied 'working late' with Bridget Stenhouse and, if smoke had fire, Monday nights he furthered Martha Juno's education in depth. Bradley, you see, had the trifecta going: proven success, good looks and confidence in the extreme. Women, it seemed, became weak in the knee (literally and figuratively) at that combination.
Bren, being out of the rough and tumble for so long, didn't take long to get caught up again in the maelstrom of a frenetic brokerage. I'm a nerd, around the block a time or two, so I knew where this train was headed, and I didn't like the destination.
At all.
So I did what any distressed nerd would do: get data.
--
My PI told me earlier today nothing had happened... yet. However, rumor had it our helpful Mr. Stevens had 'worked late' with Bren last Thursday, and had plans afoot for a repeat engagement this coming Thursday. Anybody's guess how far he'd get this week.
Which brings us to tonight's dinner at Big Dog's Steakhouse. Bren held up her glass. "I know it's still a month before our 25th, but I want to toast the most wonderful man anybody could hope to spend a quarter century with."
With a slow nod I raised my glass, clinked hers, and set it down with a sigh. "Bren, I don't know how to say it, but there's going to be no 25th anniversary."
