Code-Switching Ch. 02

"You're not," replied Christina.

"Me neither," said Shira. "Chris doesn't want anyone to know that he played in the NFL, much less talk about it more than once in a blue moon."

"Because it's over, baby. It was never quite my scene," the man said. "It was a job, not something I wanted to do 24/7. And that's what the league is. Requires."

"As opposed to Big Law?" Christina's voice sounded more dubious than Vaughn really would have liked.

"I can stay up 'til two o'clock drafting a brief but I don't have trouble getting out of bed the next morning. Terrible feeling to be twenty-four years old and feel like getting your hips to obey your mind is an actual difficult thing."

"Oh. Is it...really like that?" Vaughn watched her sip the White Russian, her full lips engaged on the glass but her eyes never moving.

"Yeah. And the older you get and the bigger you are, the worse it is. So a second-year wide receiver is pretty far down the pain scale. But look, like I said, it's over. I mean, I'll talk about it if y'all really want to, but really I just wanted to reminisce with Mr. Ashford here and put a little respect on his name."

"And I appreciate that," Vaughn heard himself say. "Especially from a dude who made it in the league."

Christian White nodded. It occurred to Vaughn that his surname and his girlfriend's were the same word in different languages - Shira Weiss, Christian White. If they got married, would she change her name? Would it even be worth bothering?

Finally White spoke. "So what got you to New York? Weren't you one of the local dudes on that Vandy team?"

"Work, man. Get a finance MBA and there's one obvious place to start."

The shorter man laughed. "Go to NYU Law, and you get the same outcome. Didn't even move when I graduated."

"Exactly, exactly." This was not a night Vaughn expected to feel relaxed. Between it being the first work event he'd attended with Tina and his own crunch of upcoming closings, the headspace just wasn't right. But damn if he wasn't enjoying talking to someone from his past. "Question being, you drink the Big Apple Kool-Aid, or this just work for you?"

Christian looked at Shira, who was now mid-sentence in a side discussion with Vaughn's own woman, and then at the Manhattan skyline looming to starboard.

"Two years ago, I'd be straight with you and say it was all business. See if I can make the cut in the large law firm world, then bet on myself from there. But damn if life don't have a way of changing things, right?"

It was Vaughn's turn to nod. Yeah, life had a way of changing things. Specifically, the women standing next to them had a way of changing things.

"So that's a yeah on the Kool-Aid?"

"Nah, I ain't moving to Guyana and killing my damn self, if literal's your style," replied Christian. "Rather take a thousand of those concussions you dishing out."

"Rather skip them both," said Vaughn. He flashed his eyes to the rapidly emptying glasses in the women's hands. "And I thought you got downfield fast."

"Thought you could cover, my man."

"Nah, that's why I make sure when I get where I need to go, I hit it hard and don't let up."

Christian White raised his glass. "And for a minute there, I thought you were talking about football."

"Nah," said Vaughn. "Like you said, all in the past. Here and now, now that's my scene."

--

The boat had turned back toward the East River, not that either of the men appeared to have noticed.

"So," Christina said, "now that they'll be talking about football or whatever they'll be talking about, should we go and make sure we do our face time?"

"You mean talk to the Dinosaurs?"

"Yes, but probably best not to call the partners that to their faces." The Dinosaurs had long been Christina and Shira's collective name for the older male partners in their office. But it had never before left the walls of their individual offices. She looked down, the boat's propeller stirring up white foam beneath.

"Why not? You know a few of them call us 'The Deal Twins,' right?"

Christina looked up. "I didn't. Really?"

"Let's walk," said Shira. She patted Christian on the arm, and he and Vaughn each acknowledged the women's departure.

Shira ran her fingers on the boat's outer railing, tapping her manicured nails.

"Yes. I mean, in a way I can't blame them, right? I mean, you're way prettier, but we both have long wavy hair, same body type, neither of us exactly blessed in the height department, both of us doing quite well in other departments. Including work competence. Dress similarly, tonight aside. Same introversion, same sarcasm."

"But we're different people."

Shira shrugged. "It's a law firm. Associates come, associates go. Dinosaurs are forever."

Christina looked at the sky, where a clear night in Tennessee would feature stars. Here, light pollution blotted out all but the brightest.

"Shira?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we friends?" She lowered her gaze. "I mean, obviously we're like work-friends. But are we friends-friends?"

"I... well, I'd like to be."

"I would too," said Christina. "Seeing as our boyfriends seem to be executing the same maneuver, we should probably actually make an effort."

"Ooh, but aren't you sorta-kinda my boss?"

"I'm more senior than you are. But we're both beholden to the Dinosaurs."

They stopped along the ship's waist, where a large door emitted seventies-era rock music into the warm night. "Speaking of." Shira pointed to Rick Stevens, speaking cheek-to-cheek with a woman who was not his inebriated wife.

"Wait, before we go in. Shira?"

"Yes?" She raised her voice slightly to get past a guitar riff from Bachman Turner Overdrive.

"Keeper." She waited, hoping her unsolicited opinion of Shira's boyfriend hadn't stepped over a line.

"See, we are friends. I wanted your opinion and didn't even need to ask." Shira tilted the last of the wine back. Christina watched the pale liquid vanish, followed by a tight expression on the smaller woman's strong-featured face.

"That bad?"

"The wine isn't. The thought of going in there is." She turned back to the water, where they were slipping past the Battery, yellow-white lamps blazing in all directions.

"Then don't. Not yet. Wait until I finish mine," Christina said. She held aloft her half-consumed drink.

"I love bad excuses that still suffice." Shira moved back to the railing, leaning her elbows on it. "But that means you get to drink while I ask the questions."

"Go ahead," said Christina. Her mind flashed to the rear of the ship, where Vaughn and Christian would - she hoped - still be deep in conversation. She had seen on his face earlier that even coming to this event was a chore, and she couldn't blame him: hours of unwanted socializing on a Friday evening after a long week were hardly her idea of fun, either. But having him here felt right, and she'd seen his face light up when he and Shira's man dove deep into their pasts.

"What do your parents think of him?"

"I'm sorry?" The directness of the question had caught Christina off guard.

"Vaughn. How do your parents feel about...ugh, you know."

"Oh, they know absolutely nothing. We've only been seeing each other for two months."

Shira's dark eyebrows shot skyward. "Wait, really? You two seem like it's been years!"

"Two months." Christina felt the alcohol warm her as she took another sip. "Seems like both two weeks and two years, though, to be honest."

"I know what you mean. I mean, time flies when you're having fun, I guess?"

"Come on, Shira. You can do better than that." She swigged the cocktail. Her head was feeling warmer now, getting closer to poor decisions. "Almost done. Fifteen minutes in there, show my face, and then you're going to make sure I get out before this stuff hits me."

"Fine with me. Oh, if we're friends..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"Those nails. We're fixing them. I know you bite them, but come on. You free tomorrow morning?"

Christina raised a hand to her face. There wasn't anything terrible about her nails in her mind, but Shira was right about the biting, and it showed in chips and cracks, plus uneven lengths.

"Well, it's Vaughn's birthday this weekend, so it'll be a nice surprise. Where and when?"

"I'll send you the address." She grinned. "On your phone, not your work email. Now bottoms up, lady."

Christina's eyes never traveled from the bitten-off nail on her index finger as her glass went skyward.

--

The large room smelled like sweat and spilled beer. Vaughn's eyes scanned the room for Christina, ears adjusting to the thumping of whatever it was that had passed for musical taste in frat houses thirty years ago.

Christian walked by his side. Their heads shook in unison.

"Man," Vaughn said. "You see them yet? This is just not it, man."

"No lie. Not enough free alcohol in the world to keep me here. Like, see that lady over there? She can't even sit straight. Ah."

Vaughn followed his new friend's gaze to where Christina and Shira had begun to weave their way through the thinning crowd. Watching his girlfriend walk across a room hadn't gotten old yet, and he doubted it would: the swing of her hips, the way she held her shoulders, the broad grin now crossing her face. And having a near-echo following immediately behind her didn't hurt the image, either.

"Ready?" There was alcohol on her breath, but not too much. Questionable decisions coming, not outright sloppiness.

"For what? Gonna jump off the boat?"

He saw Christian already with an arm casually around Shira's waist, heading for the door. The music changed over to some '80s mess - Bon Jovi, maybe - and he grabbed Christina's hand to follow.

"Why," she said when they reached the relative quiet outside, "you want me to?"

"Hell of a story, but nah. I'd rather keep you right here. Get done what you needed in there?"

"I talked to enough dinosaurs to re-enact Jurassic Park, so yes. I mean, look: I just need people to remember I was there, not get pissed off at me, and forget anything we talked about. Oh, and because they're men sliding towards the wrong side of middle age, I have to look good doing it."

They were walking towards the stern, away from the small crowd that had gathered along one rail as the lights of Lower Manhattan slid past to starboard.

"What'd you think of Shira?"

Vaughn hadn't expected that one.

"Don't know that it matters, Tina. She's your friend, not mine."

"I didn't say it mattered, but I want your opinion anyway."

"Well, Chris is all about that woman. He wasn't kidding about chasing her for years in law school, but he seems damn glad that he landed the one he wanted."

"So you don't like her, I take it?"

Out of view of the rest of the party, Vaughn slid his hand down to Christina's booty and let it sit. Felt the motion of the muscle as she walked.

"Mmmm," she said. "Daring, Mr. Ashford."

"Just taking my opportunities, counselor."

"You'll get your chances. Don't worry, baby." She rose up to her tiptoes, planting a gentle peck on his lips. "Sooner than later, but not quite yet."

"And if the later opportunities are less compelling?"

"Then you'll just have to settle for Shira. If you can pry her loose from her man, that is. Don't worry, I'm not judging you for looking." She closed one blue eye, letting the wink turn from saucy to almost conspiratorial. "Or are you still going to claim you don't like her?"

"Fine, fine. Yeah, she's the second best-looking woman here, and yeah, she's right up my alley. Gonna play like my man Christian didn't pique your fancy a bit?"

"Second best-looking man here tonight Christian White, you mean?"

"That's the dude."

"They're adorable together," she said. The boat was slowing as it approached their departure point. "We should probably join the crowd."

"Sure thing, boss." Vaughn slid his hand from behind her body to a more G-rated position. Squeezed the smaller hand now interlaced with his.

"Whatever, Mister Ashford." Her expression changed. "Look, before I forget to, thank you for coming to this. Nobody in their right mind would want to be marooned on a boat with a bunch of drunk lawyers. But you handled it super well. I got so many compliments from the Dinosaurs - that's the older partners - on how much they enjoyed meeting you."

"Ha. Dinosaurs. Careful, there. Our age gap is nothing to sneeze at, Tina."

"Seven years? I mean, you're officially a fossil when you hit forty, but come on." She flashed a row of even, white teeth and gave his hand another squeeze. "Don't worry, I don't necessarily mind fossils. As long as their minds aren't stuck in the past. And yours, Vaughn, is decidedly not."

He pondered that comment as they approached what was now a mass of humanity gathered on the narrow deck. Shira and Christian were off to one side, leaving an obvious place to slide in alongside.

He found himself guided in right next to Christian, who dropped him a quick fist-bump.

"It looks like we're a crowd of immigrants arriving in America for the first time," Shira was saying. "Crowded at the rail, waiting to see New York for the first time..."

Vaughn doubted most steerage passengers arriving on the short hop after processing at Ellis Island would smell like Chardonnay or be in low-cut dresses and hanging off the arm of an ex-professional athlete. But he didn't say anything, instead squeezing Tina's hand again.

"Not how my ancestors arrived here, baby," he heard Christian say, almost inaudibly.

From the rapid inhalation from Christina, Vaughn could tell she too was listening.

"I'm...I'm..." Shira had turned, the blush spreading outward and turning her entire face crimson.

"It's what it is," Christian replied. "And besides, like a wise man was saying earlier, all in the past. Let's not kill a decent vibe here, baby."

"I'll shut up, then," Shira Weiss replied as the boat bumped softly off the dock.

"And I'll get our Uber," Vaughn said, turning to Christina and whipping out his phone. He paused, tapping the familiar buttons and getting a confirmation. "White Camry Hybrid. Four minutes. Driver's name is Florent. Be right back, though."

--

The Uber arrived before Vaughn returned. Shira and Christian were waiting with Christina, their own ride also still en route. Around them, co-workers waved hasty farewells and piled into waiting taxis and cars.

Then came Vaughn, slowly over the ramp from the excursion boat, arm wrapped around an unsteady Philippa Stevens, carrying most of her weight as her husband guided her in the right direction.

"Oh, dear," said Shira, covering her mouth.

Christina eyeballed the direction her boyfriend and the Dinosaur were lugging the latter's semi-conscious wife. It was a large Mercedes sedan, a liveried driver manning the open rear door and looking unbothered.

Her eyes met Rick's. Something in his gaze prompted her to look away. She did, waving to the arriving Camry and opening the rear door.

"You're looking for Vaughn?"

"Yes, I am Florent," the driver responded. His English was thickly accented.

"He'll be here in a minute. I'm his girlfriend."

"You may get in. There is water in the cupholder if you wish." She tried to place the accent - African, not Caribbean. Not a native English speaker.

A moment later, Vaughn slid in next to her. "Sorry about that," he said, hand landing on Christina's thigh. "Rick had asked me to help, so I thought I'd score you some professional goodwill."

She kissed him briefly on the lips. "You're a good man, Vaughn Ashford." And she meant it: between helping a middle-aged man move an overserved woman to safe transport home and the story Christian had told about Vaughn helping him in college twenty years ago, the evidence was quickly mounting in favor of her man being a genuinely compassionate person.

"You are going to Brooklyn, yes? Near the Barclays Center?"

"Yes, please," replied Christina. She caught the driver's glance in the rearview. Bright, alert eyes. Round face, high cheekbones and a double chin. A man of maybe fifty who spent far too much time in a seated position. She watched his eyes flick from her to Vaughn in the mirror, and then back to the road as the hybrid silently pulled away.

She folded her fingers back into Vaughn's, lifting it and kissing the back of his strong hand.

"So, what all did you talk to Christian about? Y'all seem tight now."

The streets of lower Manhattan began to slide past, the tortuous crosstown traffic sliding past at its usual crawl.

"Honestly? Y'all, a lot of the time. Says Shira tells him you might be the smartest person she's ever met."

"I'm not."

"I wouldn't bet against it, Tina. We were comparing notes, seeing if the stories we heard about the work spouses lined up." Outside, a few raindrops had begun to splatter the Toyota's windows.

"Did they?"

"Yeah. Per the grapevine, you dropped a 'bless your heart' on a client's CEO on a Zoom call with thirty people when he commented on your hair."

"Wrong," she said. "It was 'bless your dear little heart.'"

"Did he get it?"

"Did he understand that I'd just called him a fucking sexist dumbass in so many words? Nah. But that's the beauty of being from Tennessee. Nobody understands a damn thing we say, right?" She let her accent ride on the last sentence.

She felt Vaughn move his large hand back to her thigh. "You know I don't complain when you let the girl from Signal Mountain out, right?"

"Oh, I know. Makes you feel right at home, doesn't it?" Raht at home.

"Nah. That's different parts, Tee."

"Bless your dear little heart, Vaughn Ashford."

"Attagirl."

"Fine," she said. "If y'all gossip about us, what is it about you that I don't know? Hidden talent? Can you tie a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue?"

"I wish," he said. "Bet you could find a use for that skill. But nah."

"Then what?"

"Eh, Florent? Qu'est-ce que pensez-vous? Elle est jolie, ou non?"

"Oui. Trés."

"Savez-vous qu'elle est une salope?"

"Vraimant?"

"Peut-être. Peut-être non."

"You speak French," she said.

"A bit."

"Enlighten me?"

"My freshman roommate at UT was a basketball player from Senegal. I taught him to pick up American women. He taught me French."

"Who got the better end of that deal?"

Vaughn laughed. "The sistas. When you share two hundred square feet with a man who's six-ten, only been in the States a year, and is making up for lost time, you witness certain things. Skill level was high." He paused. "Mamadou is also decent at basketball. And a fantastic human being."

"What were you saying just now?"

Florent the driver spoke. "We were saying you were very pretty, mademoiselle."

"Among other things," said Vaughn.

"C'est vrai," said Florent with a grin.

"That's true," translated Christina's boyfriend.

"Listen," she said. "It's your birthday this weekend, so I have a surprise for you. At home."

"Thought we going to my place."

"Uh huh."

"Enlighten me, counselor."

"When you hear the adjective 'Brazilian,' what do you think of?"

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. "Decent soccer players is second."

"And first?"

"Not the worst way to kick off a birthday weekend."

"Nope." She ran her hand along his leg, spreading her fingers wide on his thigh. "I mean, really fucking good Yankees tickets on Sunday are nice, but what's better than 'really fucking good,' Mister Ashford?"

"Just switch those last two words, Tina, and you got your answer."

Christina felt a rush through her core. The verbal teasing and the alcohol were doing more than she'd intended. If they hadn't been in an Uber, things would be in a way different situation, and fast.

"Don't make that face," Vaughn said. "It ain't that far to get home."