I arrive at the Hughes’ porch and I hesitate.
I ring the doorbell. Elyse answers immediately.
“Come in.”
She smiles, but I can tell she isn’t at ease – or can I? Is that just … me?
Words aren’t coming easily.
My breath is shallow. I can feel my hands trembling.
“Elyse … sweet Elyse. We need to talk.”
Mrs. Hughes glides into the foyer and waves. “Good evening, dear … just passing through to freshen this up.” She raises her glass as she walks up to him. “You know, I tell her everyday how lucky she is to have you. She’s no spring chicken, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Mother!” Elyse’s face is red with embarrassment and I take her hand.
“She’s fine,” I say. “It’s nice to see you Mrs. Hughes.”
She smiles at him. “Yes, yes, dear boy. Please, help yourself to a beverage. I’ll be in the parlor.”
She immediately leaves the room and I am thankful for the privacy.
“I am so sorry,” Elyse says. “She’s not usually this ..”
I shake my head and take her hands. At this point, my nausea is making me dizzy.
“Can we sit?”
She nods and we walk into the Hughes’ glamorous, fabric-laden living room, the site of many celebrations in recent months – the engagement, the cat’s return. The usual folly.
We sit on the edge of the sofa.
“Sweetheart, happy as I am to see you … ” she says. “You don’t look well.”
I shake my head and inhale deeply. “I’m not,” I tell her.
Is this it? Is this the moment?
Such an easy mark …
“You’re freaking me out,” she says. “What’s wrong? Is it the magazine? Is it Lindy? Is it … me? How can I help you?”
She throws up her hands, which jars me. I look her in the eye.
“No,” I tell her. “I’ve done some things … things I thought I could …”
Outrun.
Outrun is what I mean, but I can’t bring myself to say it.
And then it hits me. Vietnam!
Plans begin to form in my head. Gordon always joked (in his darker moments, usually after a few drinks) that if PowerBreak didn’t work, we’d end up living in Vietnam in exile, deeply in debt to investors, behind on our taxes, in a bad way with the VCs. We’d live under pseudonyms and code for start-ups the rest of our lives.
Vietnam … where Silas and the like can’t reach me …
“Well, yes,” I say, fumbling for words. I have it figured out. How do I channel this conversation?
“The magazine … you’re right, is not going well and, much as I think it would be the toast of Middle Valley, I can’t see sinking tens of thousands of dollars into something that … well, just isn’t working, you know?”
I could see the relief in Elyse’s face. Still in my court, at least for now.
“Here’s the thing … I keep in touch with some of my developers from my PowerBreak days … well, it turns out a bunch of them moved to Vietnam and built out a new company. They’re inviting me to invest, and, well, I thought I might run there and check it out … with you … if you’re willing …”
The corner of Elyse’s mouth turns up and she inhales. I can feel myself kicking into sales mode.
“I mean, it could be … a honeymoon, right? Vegas tonight? I can do it … you know I can …”
Elyse laughs, her hands flying up to her face. “You’re crazy … you are absolutely nuts. My mother is in the other room, and if you think for one minute she’d let us get away with this …”
“Elyse, let’s do it!” I exclaim, now fully engulfed in the idea of outrunning everyone … outrunning Silas, Tracy, her lawyer … the lot of them. I don’t know why it took me so long to get this! “Let’s get in the car and go. Don’t tell anyone. Absolutely no one. We’ll call them when we get there. What do you think?”
Elyse leans back on the couch. She is suddenly calm. She looks down at her left hand, at the ring I gave her.
“No,” she says, and removes the ring. “This belongs to you.”
Jenny Page