American Lavender

This is my entry in the Pastiches de Oggbashan event, and it's based on his story, Lavender. Thanks for all the great stories, Ogg, and I hope we do them justice!

*

I never used to believe in clichés. I especially never really believed the A students end up working for the C students -- not until the day I invited Renee to head up our North American office, anyway. Probably the only thing more surprising than that was that Renee -- my Phi Beta Kappa friend, who'd finished off her PhD in comparative literature in just four years and married an investment banker -- accepted the job.

I couldn't quite hide my surprise when she did. "You're sure?" I'd asked. "I just thought, if you're between adjunct teaching jobs, you know..."

"I'm sick and tired of adjunct teaching jobs, Tom," she'd told me. "I love this app of yours, and I really need a change of pace anyway. Besides, how much did you say that investment you got was?"

"Who ever thought you'd take a job from the black sheep of the class, huh?"

"Oh, come on, Tom, we all knew you were going places!" she'd replied. "Honestly, you were smart not to bother with grad school."

That was Renee, always knowing just the right thing to say. The fact that I couldn't have gotten into a decent grad school to save my life was allowed to lay between the lines, and I was happy to leave it there. Back when Renee and her future husband Steve were working their tails off and living up to the arrogant promise of our snooty alma mater, Claxton College, I was discovering beer and hanging around my room writing bad poetry and trying to forget how much I really hadn't wanted to be there. Renee, the girl down the hall in our freshman dorm whom I'd bonded with on our floor's studybreaks because we were the two token quiet kids on a floor of extroverts, had always been there to encourage me to try harder and not give up like I nearly did a dozen times or more.

Steve, whom Renee started dating our sophomore year -- his junior year -- had not. Rather, he'd drawn endless amusement from my unvarnished caustic attitudes about the place. "My God, you're bitter, Tom," he'd commented on too many occasions to count. "But it's awesome. Better than the best teenage poetry."

Renee had always done her best to reassure me that he didn't really mean anything by it. "He's your average boarding school kid, always surrounded by privilege," she'd told me once. "He just doesn't know what to make of someone like you who hasn't had an easy ride like he has."

"If you get that he's that kind of snob, what do you love about him?" I'd asked.

Renee had sighed and laughed. "Can't explain, Tom. Love is blind. But I do love him, like it or not."

I'd finally gotten my act together senior year and even made the dean's list in my final semester, but by then the damage was done. With no prospects beyond a job at the bookstore, I'd spent a miserable summer after graduation living with my family and fighting constantly with them. One night my bratty teenage sister had short-sheeted my bed, but when I told on her, Dad had laughed and Mom had said, "Come on, Tom, she doesn't know how to do that!" Naturally, the little bitch had laughed her ass off at the whole thing.

The next time I was home alone after that, I'd gone through Mom's filing cabinet and dug out my birth certificate, and it was off to the post office to apply for a passport. The day it came in, I had my rucksack packed and ready, and bought a one-way ticket to Bangkok. That night I'd snuck out after midnight and walked to the airport -- the buses weren't running and I wasn't about to hitchhike -- and I was off to the Orient to find work teaching English.

Five years of teaching in Thailand had matured me a bit, anyway, and had also given me a lot of big ideas about helping kids learn a new language. One of those ideas turned into an app I developed with a fellow teacher I'd met who was a software engineer taking a break from her career. I'll not bore you with the details of how it caught on and attracted interest from dozens of our fellow teachers and caught the attention of an angel investor in Singapore -- suffice to say my ship came in, and I moved to the Lion City and set up shop selling the LanguagExchange app all over the place.

By the time I'd tapped Renee a couple of years later, sales were brisk throughout Asia and we were getting inquiries from schools all over the world. Renee had, with her knack for connecting with other snooty intellectuals like herself, had no trouble tapping into that interest and -- very much to my bittersweet delight -- she was soon faring better than Steve, whose career on Wall Street had never quite taken off.

Now, three years and one very successful IPO later, I reflected on what LanguagExchange had done for both of us over my last glass of champagne before turning in high over the Pacific. If I wanted to go to grad school now, I mused, I could most certainly buy my way in. Now Renee could go back to teaching if she wanted, too. But I'd picked up enough hints along the way to know I'd best not make that suggestion when I got there.

There were a lot of things I figured I'd best not say to Renee while I was her guest, actually. For starters, nearly anything about Steve. I hadn't liked him much in college, and Renee's success on my coattails hadn't gone over very well with him besides, though he couldn't very well complain about the seaside mansion it had enabled them to buy and convert into a B&B. I had no desire whatsoever to see Steve again, but when my presence was required in New York for some meetings, there was no avoiding a stay at the newly-restored mansion. "It's all because of you, after all," Renee had told me. "It's only fair that you come and share what you've done for us."

"Well, if you're going to twist my arm," I'd teased. The truth, of course, was that I was thrilled to have a friend's home to stay in for the summer instead of a hotel. But I couldn't help wishing Steve had a business trip of his own.

For all that, I was in great spirits a few days later when, with the first round of meetings behind me, I got in the waiting limousine and made my escape out to Connecticut. My first time back in New England since Renee and I had graduated a decade or so before, it would also be my first time seeing her in person since her wedding to Steve just a couple of summers after that, though we'd had more face time than we really wanted with our online conference calls. Bitter or not, there was no question I was making a victorious return.

My spirits soared still more (and in spite of myself, my mild angst about Steve bubbled up again as well) as the limo pulled up to a palatial Victorian mansion, newly painted lavender with white trim, perched on a gorgeous bluff looking over the sea. At the peak of the ovular driveway that cut through the neatly manicured grass was a newly painted sign in the same color scheme as the house: "Welcome to Dr. Poirier's Bed and Breakfast". Tenured prof or not, my dear old friend had done well for herself!

As the limo drew to a stop, a bellhop appeared out of nowhere to open the door before I could do it myself -- one of a hundred little differences brought on by success that I still hadn't gotten used to -- and I scarcely had time to step out of the car and thank him before I found myself buried in Renee's arms. "Tom! So good to see you!"

"Same here!" I said, though in the heat of the moment I hadn't really seen her so much as I'd felt her and smelled her perfume -- a feminine touch I never would have expected of my tomboyish old friend. When she finally released me, I saw that wasn't the only such touch: she was dressed in an elegant peach-colored top and a gray skirt, and patent black leather pumps. Besides her wedding dress, I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen Renee in anything but jeans before.

"Well, you've certainly changed, Doctor Poirier," I said.

"All part of the right look for the B&B," she said. "And it's nice to have a reason to dress up anyway. Years of adjunct teaching jobs weren't offering that, you know."

I laughed. "You sure have a knack for making me glad I barely made it through Claxton," I said. For all my success, it still stung a bit how mediocre my track record was in that place.

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Tom!" Renee took me by the hand and led me to the front door, the bellhop having already taken care of my suitcases. "You just had some growing up left to do, and obviously you did do that in Asia." Ushering me into the beautiful lobby made possible by the job I'd given her, she added, "And thank heavens you did!"

"You guys did a great job of cleaning this place up," I said, recalling the photos of a dusty old abandoned parlor that I could only just recognize in the opulent setting before me.

"Thank you," Renee said. "I've asked my assistant to get your room arranged. Care for a glass of wine while she does that?"

"Sounds great," I said.

Renee led me through the lobby to the dining room, which was empty but for a couple of staff setting the dishes out for dinner. "I bid you fair warning, Tom, Julia -- that's my assistant -- she's utterly starstruck with you. Took me ages just to convince her that I really did know the man who invented LanguagExchange."

"Guilty as charged," came a voice from behind us, and I turned to see a dark-haired woman a few years younger than us, looking just as coiffed and polished in a beautiful floral print dress. "You must be Mr. Atkinson!" she said, looking delighted.

"Tom, please," I said, extending my hand.

She shook it, but it looked like she wanted to a great deal more than that. "I love LanguagExchange, Tom!" she gushed. "I've been using it to brush up on my Spanish, and it's a godsend! Renee saw me using it on my lunch break one day and when she told me she used to work for the company and she knew the guy who invented it -- I was like, is it April Fool's Day? But she showed me some of her old pictures with you, from Claxton. I didn't get into Claxton, you know, so I was almost happy to read about how you didn't really love the place either."

"Julia, for heaven's sake!" Renee interrupted. Turning to me, she added, "I'm sorry, Tom, I didn't tell her you hated Claxton, I promise."

"No problem," I said, and it wasn't. "Nice to meet you, Julia, and thanks, I'm glad you like the app. But where'd you hear I hated Claxton?" Then, as soon as I'd asked it, I knew. "Steve, wasn't it?"

Both women laughed, and Julia nodded. "Sorry, Tom. But Steve warned me, you were really..."

"I know, bitter," I said.

Julia laughed. Renee didn't. "You see how I've changed, Tom, but I'm afraid Steve hasn't very much." She gestured to a table in the corner with a view of the water. "Julia, would you like to join us for a drink before we show Tom to his room?"

"Oh, I'd love to, Renee, but there's a bit of a problem with the room," Julia said. "I've asked Chris and Sandy to see about reassigning someone, but --"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Julia, did those two geniuses overbook again?" Renee turned to me. "Chris and Sandy are our booking managers. They're still a little new at this like we all are."

"No, we're not overbooked," Julia said. "It's just -- it's the wrong room, I think."

"Wrong room?" Renee shook her head and pulled out a chair for me. "We'll worry about that later. Have a seat." She set off across the room to ask the staff for a bottle of wine, and Julia and I both sat down.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Julia said. "I didn't mean anything about what Steve said. He seemed to think you'd enjoy it, anyway."

"That figures," I said. "But it's not you who should be apologizing. Anyway, Julia, he's not entirely wrong. Claxton was already super selective when Renee and Steve and I were there, about twenty percent got in for our class, I think, and I have often felt like I wasted it for one of the other eighty who probably would've done a better job than I did there."

"Tom, stop!" Renee had returned just in time to hear my last comment. To Julia she explained, "Senior year, he made the dean's list."

"True," I said. "I finally found my footing there just as I was almost done. The truth is I really didn't want to go to college at all at first, and Claxton is no place for a kid who doesn't want to study. But my parents wouldn't hear of it."

"Have you been in touch with them, by the way?" Renee asked.

"No," I said. "I'm guessing they must've seen my name in the news at some point. But I haven't contacted them or anything." Julia looked a bit perturbed at that, so I started to explain how I'd run off to Asia. "I didn't really get along with my parents, and the summer after graduation my kid sister wanted me out of the house and she got outright abusive, and..." Though Julia looked absolutely transfixed, I caught myself. "I'm sorry, this is why Steve thinks I'm bitter. Never mind."

"No, Tom," Renee said. "Steve thinks you're bitter because he's had a very easy ride in this life and he doesn't understand people like you who haven't."

"Thanks," I said. "But I came out here promising I wouldn't slide back into that bad habit."

"What bad habit?" Julia asked.

"Reciting every detail of every crummy thing that ever happened to me," I said. "Suffice to say I bought a one-way ticket to Bangkok and left a letter to my family on my pillow, and snuck off in the middle of the night."

"And you invented LanguagExchange there?" Julia asked.

"A couple of years later," I said. "And it wasn't just me. I'm no techie, but I had a friend at my second job over there who knew something about voice-recognition software. It started as just another thing I could use to help my students practice their English, and to give a rough translation in a pinch. I certainly had no idea it was ever going to get this big. Even when I first heard from the investors in Singapore, really, I figured it was a joke."

"Didn't I tell you he was the most modest millionaire you're ever going to meet?" Renee asked, handing me a glass of the wine that had appeared at some point without my notice.

"It's like a rags-to-riches movie!" Julia said.

"You're telling me!" I'd have had twice as big a fortune if I'd had a dollar for every time I'd had just that thought. "Someone once said the way to get rich is to get everyone in the world to give you a nickel. I did it with a ninety-nine-cent app."

"Nothing embittering about that, is there?" Renee chimed in.

"Speaking of which, where's Steve?" I asked, only now realizing I hadn't seen any sign of him.

"In Boston for a job interview," Renee said. "I sure hope he gets the job."

"That's a long commute to make every day," I said.

"Who said he'd be commuting?"

"Oh, Renee, I'm sorry!"

"No you're not," she said, "And that's fine, Tom, really."

I sighed. "I guess. Sorry, I really have tried to keep my opinion of him to myself around you."

"No need," she said. "I remember all too well how he treated you after our wedding." To Julia she added, "That was the last time Tom and I saw each other in person. He flew all the way from Thailand to be there for us, and Steve had to go and ask why he hadn't brought a date."

"I'd just broken up with a British gal I'd been dating over there," I went on, "And I tried to explain how really it was for the better, it was fun while it lasted but it just wasn't working out, and I made a point of smiling as I explained it -- I mean, bending over backwards to sound as positive as I could, and what do you think Steve says as soon as I'm done?"

"You were bitter, I suppose?" Julia asked.

"Yes," Renee and I said in unison. "And he thought it was funny, too," Renee went on. "'Gee, I miss that!', he says. He thought Tom would be glad to hear that, and he had no idea how he was trying to avoid hearing it in the first place!"

"Didn't he, though?" I asked.

"Yes," Renee said. "I told him later on he was out of line, and how you were obviously trying not to sound bitter, and he said, 'Oh, come on, Tom likes it!' I've got to admit, Tom, he wasn't being a jerk on purpose, he just didn't know any better."

"I kind of figured," I said. There was a lot I wanted to say beyond that, but Renee's marriage was none of my business and I was already slipping in my resolve to avoid more accusations of bitterness, and so we were left with an awkward lull in the conversation.

"Speaking of Steve, Renee, I think the problem with Tom's room is probably his doing," Julia finally said. "Remember when he was asking if Tom was single?"

"Oh, no, the Lavender room?" Renee asked. "That immature jerk. God, I hope he gets the Boston job!"

"Lavender room?" I asked. Smelling a joke about my sexuality -- Steve had always had his suspicions that I was gay for some reason -- I said, "It sounds lovely, really! You know I don't mind a feminine touch, Renee."

"Of course I know that, Tom, but --"

"That's not the problem," Julia said, and she exchanged concerned looks with Renee.

"I get it," I said. "Steve put me there because he thought it'd make me uncomfortable."

"Well, yes," Renee said.

"Then let's call his bluff," I said. "Let's finish our wine and go see the Lavender room."

"Tom, there's something --" Julia began.

"No there isn't," Renee said, giving her a look I couldn't very well miss -- the argument was over. "Tom, you're right. Let's not play Steve's childish games. I'll show you up there once we're done. Julia, could you go tell Chris and Sandy we won't need any changes after all?"

"Sure." Julia reluctantly stood up. "It's been nice meeting you, Tom. Any...any chance I could hear more about your adventures in Asia while you're here?"

"You can join us at the VIP table for dinner tonight if you'd like, Julia," Renee said. "But for now I'd like a word alone with Tom."

"Certainly, Renee!" Julia brightened up immediately, and pushed her chair carefully back in. "See you then, Tom?"

"I'll look forward to it," I said.

"I'm so sorry!" Renee said as soon as we were alone.

"Sorry for what?" I asked. "She seems like a really nice gal."

"She is, and a hard worker too. I just meant the way she was fawning over you."

"Well, I am single," I quipped. "I suppose you heard that in a tabloid somewhere?"

"Right, the fashion designer's daughter in Singapore," Renee said. "None of my business, I know. But what does SPG stand for?"

"Sarong party girl," I said. "And it's considered more than a little bit rude, just like calling someone a gold-digger and a racist all in one. But yeah, Diane was one. Good riddance. But what's that got to do with Steve putting me in the Lavender room?"

"It's best if you see the room first," Renee said. She downed the last of her wine and stood up. "Come on, I'll show you."

We were already halfway up the stairs before I noticed Renee hadn't warned me off pursuing anything with Julia. I wondered should I ask her about that, but opted to keep it to myself for the time being.

The Lavender room was immaculate and well-lit with an even better view of the water than we'd enjoyed in the dining room. It was also just as feminine as I'd imagined from the name, with lace and ruffles aplenty in its titular shade, but that had always been a guilty pleasure of mine. "I love it, Renee," I said. "This will do fine."

Renee shut the door. "There is something you should know, Tom, and I didn't want Julia repeating it downstairs where the waitstaff might overhear her. There are some silly rumors about it being haunted, is all."

I laughed. Renee was much too sensible to believe such a thing.

"I was hoping you'd see it that way," Renee said. "The locals -- and Julia's one of them, she grew up just up the road from here -- they all swear it's true. And full disclosure, the first guests we ever put in this room were a couple, and in the morning the woman swore the man had the most intense dreams and kept her awake, so since then we've only put single women in here."