Whatever You Want (Full)

      When Sean got home that evening, Carol was in the laundry nook taking another load of laundry out of the washer and transferring them into the dryer. She had already finished washing and drying the clothes for the day, but it was about time to change Molly’s sheets, pillowcases, and duvet cover to match the upcoming spring season. 

      Without saying a word, Sean took off his jacket and tossed it on the black leather couch in the living room. He’s only slowly becoming familiar with what was around him: the black leather couch, of course, hand made and shipped from France; the creamy smooth off-white walls; the vaulted ceiling, and the large skylight that actually formed much of that ceiling; the stairs to the left leading up to the second floor, where Molly’s room and the master bedroom were located; the track lighting with adjustable ambient switches that lined the entire apartment, exclusively from Oxford Lighting Systems; the open kitchen with pure white marble working surfaces, polished dark maple cabinets, and a commercial grade high-BTU quad-burner range from Viking; behind the cooking space is the pantry and the laundry, where Carol just finished cleaning the lint screen, set the Kenmore Capacity Plus XE dryer to the right setting, and closed the front door with a satisfying thump, like shutting a vault when a bank closes at the end of the business day. 

“You’re home early.” Carol said as she walked into the cooking area, and turned up the lighting.

“I suppose,” Sean said.  

A slight smile formed on Carol’s thin lips. “Did something good happen?” 

“We just closed a deal for one of our Chinese clients and everything got sent out just now. It’ll be the biggest cross-border deal for this year yet.”

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the other partners on your team, or take the associates out somewhere fancy and get them trashed?” Carol said. “You have been working on this deal for months.” 

      “Well, actually Bob took the associates out already. You remember Bob right? We went to his house in the Hamptons last summer for his annual barbecue party.”

Carol nodded.

     Sean sat down at a stool next to the kitchen island, plopped his elbows on the marble surface, and rested his chin on his hands. Carol walked around to the other side of the island, and leaned against it.

“I remember I had to keep an eye on the chicken in the deep fryer while Bob played chef on the grill. You were out in the courtyard too, I think, if my memory serves me right.” Sean said. 

      “I was sitting by the lap pool having a gin martini by myself.”

      “Hm. Weren’t you talking to the partners’ wives? There was Angie, Bob’s wife, and Clara, and then I think Glen’s wife, plus a bunch of others.”

“I wasn’t that comfortable with them...after all, I didn’t know any of them, and I am much younger than most of them anyway. I think they were comparing notes on hiring maids and drivers, that sort of thing. Maybe also private boarding schools.”

      “Isn’t that something you would want to know? I mean, it was the perfect chance to get some first hand information on this kind of stuff. I think we do need to take advantage of these networking opportunities. It’s not like every day you get invited by a senior partner to his private beach house, and it’s not like you can just call these people up anytime you want, you know?”

Carol leaned closer to Sean, smiled, and lightly pressed his nose with her right index finger. “But you know, sir, it really doesn’t matter.” she said.

Sean looked away briefly, and stood up. “Do you still have any tomato juice around?”

      “I’ll bring you some. Why don’t you get changed? Just make sure you don’t wake Molly up. It was really hard putting her to bed.”

      “She’s already asleep?”

      “It’s almost ten-thirty, Sean.”

      “Wow, I didn’t realize. I thought it was still early. I came straight home from work too.” 

      “You must be tired then. Go take a shower, and I’ll fix you something quick to eat. Would you like that?” 

      “That sounds good, sure. What do you have?”

      “Whatever you want,” Carol said. 

As Sean was standing in the shower, he thought about his day. It was the first time in months he came home early; in fact, it was the first time he came home before midnight since they moved into the current penthouse apartment on Madison Avenue and 78th Street. The apartment was brighter than he remembered, because whenever he got home the lights would have already been dimmed, and Carol and Molly asleep. He would usually go straight to the fridge to pour himself a glass of tomato juice, or if he had a particularly bad day, he would opt for a sip of bourbon instead. After that, he would go upstairs to the master suite, which was always empty because Carol had moved into Molly’s room so Sean wouldn’t wake her up when he gets home. He would take every piece of clothing off, shower quickly with scaldingly hot water, and then fall into the California king-sized bed, naked. If he were lucky, he would be in bed by 1:30 A.M.

 Something just doesn’t feel right, Sean thought, as he leaned his head against the granite wall of the shower stall. Carol is probably heating up some chicken noodle soup for me downstairs. It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen her in person. Or had chicken noodle soup. Her cooking isn’t anything to boast about, but I really have no real complaints, either. Then again that’s not why I came home early. So why did I come home so early? Why am I not at the party? I could have been getting to know some of the junior associates better. Who knows, maybe I can find someone brilliant to mentor. It’s not easy to find someone good to work with these days; they just don’t work as hard as we did. I could have also been talking with Bob, who really champions me at the firm. I couldn’t have made partner without his lobbying and cajoling some of the other senior partners. What’ll he think of me now? Antisocial? But I can’t possibly go to every party and every dinner right? The thing is, after all, I was the real leader of the deal team. I called all the shots. Everyone reported to me. I was on top of things. I am on top of things. Bob’s got to be impressed with me this time around. What an old geezer he is sometimes. I’m going to use him, stay under his wings for a bit longer, and then take his place in the firm when the timing is right. It’ll be perfect. 

There was a knock on the door. “Your soup is ready,” Carol’s voice seeped through the door, softened by the steam that filled the bathroom. Sean got out of the shower, dried himself off, slipped on his navy blue bathrobe, and went downstairs. 

That night, Sean lied on the bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. He had turned off all the lights except for the reading lamp on the left side of the bed.

“Move over.” Sean heard Carol’s voice. “This used to be my side.”

Sean looked over as Carol sat down at the edge of the bed, her back towards him. Carol was naked as well. Her hair was a bit damp, and fell across her back in little curls.

Without thinking, Sean reached out with his right hand and ran his index finger along the small of her back, down to her butt. “Hey,” Carol murmured, and drew her legs into bed. Slowly, she wiggled over close to Sean, until their arms were against each other. She snuck her hand underneath his, and felt his fingers curl around hers.

“Your hand is cold,” he said.

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, women tend to retain most of their warmth in the core and leave less for the appendages.”

“Oh yeah? That’s quite interesting, I’d say.”

“Well, I don’t feel particularly cold.”

“I see.”

They held on to each other’s hands for a while, without saying a word.

“So.” Sean said, still looking at the ceiling. “We are having sex tonight, aren’t we?”

Carol propped herself up to look at Sean. “That’s an awfully strange question to ask.”

“When was the last time we had sex?” Sean asked. “I feel like I can’t remember the last time we did.”

“Why does it matter? Do you want to do it now?”

“Do you?”

“If you do,”

Sean sighed. “All right.”

He rolled on top of her as she relaxed herself on her back. They kissed each other on the lips. He planted small kisses on her cheeks and her forehead. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and ruffled his hair. He propped himself up a little with one arm and cupped his other hand over one of Carol’s breasts. She closed her eyes. He ran his hand over her breasts and caressed her nipples. She reached down and held on to his penis. He closed his eyes. She opened her legs and guided him into her.

They built up to a slow but steady rhythm. 

But it does matter, Carol thought. The last time they had sex. She couldn’t quite recall the details either, nor did she feel like trying. You can’t ask for much in a marriage, since it’s only the union of two imperfect people. Perhaps imperfection is in the act of union itself. You can only try your best to accommodate. You let him in, you get rid of a part of yourself, and you do your best to accommodate. That was the least she can do for him, tonight, like he did for her. Let tomorrow worry about itself. 

She felt Sean’s breath on her neck, and felt him shivering as he came. She opened her eyes and saw him rest his head next to hers, and then she could only see the ceiling, just as cyanic and silent as on all the other nights.

* * *

“Rice.” Carol had said many years ago, when they were both still in law school. They were sitting outside the student cafeteria in the evening on a certain day in April, having coffee in waxed paper cups.

“Rice?” Sean asked.

“Yup.”

“Are you serious? You are telling me, you are going to write your third year thesis on rice?”

“Yup. Rice. And free trade.” Carol said. “Fair trade. Drugs. Politics. International law. Something for everyone, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Hmm. And how the hell did you come across this topic?”

“I was reading this book by a Burmese author about the rise and fall of Burmese regimes and their connection to the rice black markets. Rice and drugs, and weapons, were traded in these complicated cross-border black market schemes throughout Southeast Asia. There has been hardly any research done in this area, much less international law enforcement.”

Sean was still staring at her.

“Took a seminar in college and kept in touch with the professor. Actually, she recommended the book to me.” Carol said.

“You’re still a first year and you’ve already begun thinking about this paper?”

“Sure. I mean, you just sort of get worked up about something and you kind of just go for it. I’ve already talked to some professors here about being my faculty advisors.”

“Who have you talked to?”

“The Human Rights Program, the International Legal Studies people, the Dean.”

“You talked to the Dean?”

“Well, I needed to check with her if I were to go to Burma using law school funding. I don’t know if I want to indirectly transfer school funds to the Burmese military government.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be a good idea,”

“You have to think ahead about these things.”

“Of course. I know that.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,”

“Sure.”

Carol chuckled. “You don’t have to be upset at me, Sean, really.” “Although, this is what makes me think you are really cute.”

Sean didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, do you know what you’re doing for your paper?” Carol asked.

“I don’t really know yet. I am just trying to finish second year for now.”

“No idea at all?”

“Well, I guess it’ll end up being something on corporate law, or something business related. It’s not that important for me. I have a job lined up.”

“Don’t you have something you’re intellectually interested in? Something you just want to understand thoroughly?” Carol said. “Or anything that you’d like to accomplish?”

“Not at the moment. I think I have better things to do with my time.”

“Like what?”

“Having coffee with you, for example.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“See, maybe you’re too self absorbed in your own strange little ideas and you can’t see that other people might have other priorities. That’s a problem of yours.”

“Well then. Your problem, mister, is that you really haven’t thought about who you are or what you want. You’re too used to living up to other people’s expectations to have any for yourself. Once you’re done with a set of expectations, you sit around and waste away while waiting for the next set to be handed down to you.”

That was the thing that Sean hated the most and also loved the most about Carol---that she doesn’t care for who he is, talks straight to him, annoys him to no end because she’s always more perceptive than he is, especially about himself.

At school, Sean was actually a legend of sorts. He made law review, of course; what amazed his fellow classmates and a legion of first year girls was that he had already started working at a über-prestigious Wall Street law firm while he completed law review assignments. He then went on to meet and befriend all the partners doing mergers and acquisitions in Hong Kong. Student organizations would ask him to raise money for them, and he never turned down a request. Conferences, symposia, retreats, outings, parties, banquets...the posters might have well listed Sean as a Platinum Sponsor. It was easy to imagine why most people on campus wanted to be his best friend.

For Sean, though, everything he did during law school was a blur. He never thought he would end up in law school. He never thought much about anything at that time. One of his best friends applied, and so he applied as well; he got in, and then he went, and that was it. In law school whenever he had to make a choice he did whatever everyone else around him did. Apply to law firms. Join some clubs. Apply for law review. Go to receptions. Quit some clubs, cut class, take finals. School was easy for him, because a surprising number of people did exactly the same thing; he didn’t have to worry about where to go. Just follow the crowd. It was just that when he did something everyone else also did, he ends up doing it better than everyone else.

There was one thing, however, that Sean did not follow through with everyone else. He did not get himself a girlfriend by the time he was a third year. That’s not to say, of course, that he didn’t go on dates; in fact, he was always going out with girls. People wanted to meet him, and people wanted to introduce girls to him. Out of a sense of duty he called these girls back, go on the date, and immediately found out that he had nothing he wanted to talk about with these girls. There was once he took a girl out to dinner in a restaurant by the harbor:

“So, Sean, tell me what your secret is.”

“Hmm? What secret?”

“You know, how you were able to snatch that job in Hong Kong.”

“I don’t know...I mean, I just called them and sent in my transcript, and then they called me again to interview, and that was it.” 

“But I mean, what did you say in the interview? You must have impressed them so much!”

“I don’t quite remember actually, I mean, it’s a long time ago.”

“It must have been really fun right? Working in Hong Kong? Meeting all those people? You need to hook me up sometimes too!”

He hated going out with girls in law school.

“It’s so boring,” Sean said.

Carol smiled. “It’s because they make you realize how boring you are.”

* * *

“Sean, don’t forget you have an interview for a summer intern next week. Should I just put it into your schedule?” Sean’s secretary asked over the intercom.

“Sure, please do. Thanks.”

Sean stood in the middle of his office with a plastic water bottle in his hand. It was a little past 10 A.M.. In the hallway, a phone would go off once in a while, the ringing forming tiny little pearls that seemed to bounce off of the walls. There were footsteps and people quietly chatting about the weather or the stock market. It was a Monday morning, about a month after Sean closed the China deal. He had just been organizing his files while waiting for the next matter to pick up.

      Sean walked over to the small leather chair against the wall opposite his desk, and picked up a stack of papers next to the chair. On the top: “Barclay’s 6.25% Notes due 2025.” Sean tossed the entire pile into the garbage bin by the door. Next two piles: “RBS Hong Kong Acquisition and Restructuring 2002” and “Project Aquitaine.” Both were deals Sean worked on with Bob during his first year at the firm.

When the firm entered the Asia market in the 80s, Bob was handpicked by the firm to help grow that line of business as a junior partner. He did everything from investments in fledging Chinese real estate operations to funding large scale oil and gas infrastructure in Southeast Asia. Over time, the breadth of experience Bob had built up in the Asia market helped the firm establish a reputation for getting the biggest and the most difficult deals done. It was during this time of rapid expansion that Sean joined the firm, and the firm’s senior partners and clients quickly realized his talents as a charismatic and always dependable attorney for all of their demands. 

      When Sean picked them up for the garbage pile, an envelope slipped out of the binder labled “Closing Documents” from Project Aquitaine. It was a torn envelope, slightly yellowed like the color of very old soy sauce stains. A postmark of July 2002 was etched over a stamp that said “Republic of the Union of Burma.” Sean retrieved the letter from the envelope.

“Sean. 

      Life here has been wonderful and everything I have imagined. Away from the ignorant life as we know it. Away from the tiny world as we know it.

      I was at the market this morning and tried to buy some chicken, but I had to turn my head away because I couldn’t watch the chickens in cages being pulled out and then beheaded right in front of me. The lady laughed at me, and threw in some extra chicken feet. She then made this gesture like she was holding up a bowl and drinking from it, and then pointed to the chicken feet. I think she’s trying to tell me to put them in a soup, or something else, but in any case right now I can only put things in water and boil them so they’re edible.

Everyone at the convent is really nice. Some of them know why I am here, but the others think I am just here to do volunteer work and write some stuff for a travel guide. That’s why my advisor here takes me around to restaurants on days we are not doing fieldwork. Restaurants good and bad, big and small, fancy places and roadside stalls. But every time I have rice, I kind of smile on the inside.

In any case, I hope your first few weeks at work aren’t too bad. Don’t feel like you have to write back, if you are too busy. Can’t wait to see you again.

Carol.”

 

      How did this letter end up here? I should have saved all of them at home, Sean frowned. She wrote a whole bunch of letters to me while she was there. Where did I put them? Let’s think...that’s right, in that old book bag I used during my first year at the firm. That book bag should be in the back of my side of the closet, if Carol remembered to put it there when we moved.

It’s funny how these little things bring back the most random memories. After all these years, I had almost forgotten she was ever there. Feels like it passed before my eyes and it was gone, just like that. Like the moon gently allowing its light to be veiled every now and then by passing clouds. Whatever happened to us then, it doesn’t mean much to us now. We have each other, and more importantly, a new life we created. What was in the past is in the past and there is no point going back to chase after it anymore. Perhaps.  

Sean slipped the letter into the left inner pocket of his jacket, and tossed the rest of the binders into the garbage bin.

That afternoon, Bob called Sean into his office.

“Congratulations on that deal last month,” Bob said when Sean walked in.

“Thanks. I just did what I was told.”

“Hey, don’t be so modest all the time. It wasn’t an easy thing to ask anyone to do, believe me. You were stellar and the clients absolutely, absolutely loved you. They were happy to sell their decrepit manufacturing operation, the other side was happy to own a huge stake in a massive American company, and we got our cut. Everyone got what they wanted.”

“Well, glad to hear that, of course.”

“Anyway,” Bob fumbled through the mess on his desk and pulled out a yellow piece of paper from a legal pad. “There’s the other stuff that we’ve put off for a while, remember? The people from the Offshore Investment Group wanted to know when we can get them a draft of the SPA according to what we talked about at that meeting we had...”

      “Hm. That meeting, wasn’t that back in August?”

      “Yeah. I know we were trying to get all the closing diligence done for the Chinese deal back then, but I hope you’ve got something ready. To be honest, I don’t quite remember what we talked about anymore.”

      “I see. No problem, I should be able to get it done tomorrow.”

      “Ha, I know I can count on you again. As with the last time, I’ll just have them deal with you from now on.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’m sorry to say, but this could get a lot busier real soon. But it’ll be a great opportunity for you to get into that inner circle and build a relationship. They are definitely getting aggressive in doing deals here.”

As Sean left Bob’s office, he looked over the floor-to-ceiling window by the hallway. Something was happening outside, on the street level. 36 floors below his feet, a large crowd had gathered, waving handmade signs that looked more like little specks of dirt. Another protest march, from the looks of it.

The crowd moved along the narrow streets slowly. From within the crowd, any one participant must have felt an absolute sense of purpose and idealism, charging towards a specific vision in their minds. From where Sean was standing, it looked like the crowd had merely gotten lost in the desert, wandering aimlessly hoping for nothing more than a bit of manna.

* * *

      “Sean, remember I wanted to talk to you about taking a vacation?” Carol asked over the phone.

      “Yes, I do remember.” Sean said while glancing over at the clock. 8:38 P.M. and he was still at the office, preparing for a conference call with that damned Offshore Investment Group at 9:00. “Honey, can we talk when I get back? I should be home soon. I just got on this new deal and I need to get things in motion before I leave.”

      “Well, it’s okay. I don’t know, a cousin of mine asked if we wanted to spend a few weeks in his house in Portland. He is going on business to Vietnam and asked if we’d like to house-sit for him.”

      “That sounds like a plan. Tell me the details when I get back, okay?”

      “Since you don’t seem to be free next week, I guess there’s not much to talk about.”

      “Fine then.” Sean said. “I really should go.”

      “Good night. Love you.”

      “Love you too.”

* * *

Sean had, at the suggestion of Bob, decided to start in the New York headquarters first before possibly moving to the Hong Kong office. Immediately Sean immersed himself in the role of an apprentice, doing all the menial tasks such as checking the cross references in a contract or reworking graphs to fit whatever data was being presented. It was the kind of work suited to an unwaveringly faithful machine, which was just fine by Sean.

Carol came to visit the night before her flight to Burma. Sean had just moved into a studio apartment on a side alley off of Wall Street. It wasn’t much, but the price was unusually low and it was within a ten-minute walk to the office.

“Hmm, this is nicer than I thought.” Carol said when she opened the door to the apartment. “I love the vaulted ceilings and the detailing on the columns.” 

“Really? I’ve never noticed the columns.” Sean said.

“You can tell that they’ve been painted over, but in very good condition.”

They sat next to each other on a brand new futon from IKEA. There was a mattress pushed against a corner, which Sean drove to New York tied to the roof of a friend’s car. The kitchen cabinets were made of plywood boards, but were left well maintained by the previous tenant. The hardwood floors still had the scent of cheap varnish.  

Sean picked up a bottle of Bordeaux from the floor and poured himself and Carol each a glass.

“So you have actually decided to go to Burma,” Sean said as he passed the glass over to Carol. “Well, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I didn’t think you would actually go.”

“How come?”

“For one, you’ll have to take time off of school. Two, who is going to guarantee your safety? Three, what do you hope to accomplish anyway? Couldn’t you have written this paper in school?”

Carol swirled her glass of wine and stared at it. “Oh my. Of course I couldn’t write this paper unless I go. Don’t you get it?”

“It’s just a paper, about rice. Like you said.”

“It’s not just about rice, and it’s not just a paper. It’s about finding the root causes of an injustice so we can do something about it.”

“Really. How so?”

“Rice is the most basic and primitive thing for the people of Burma. It is sustenance, wealth, and life itself. People depend on it and their existence is defined by it. But throughout Burma’s history, only a tiny group of men have actually profited from the wealth generated by all that rice grown in Burma. These guys control the rice trade, they use their influence to smuggle weapons and drugs, and they extort families into selling their daughters into prostitution. And there is no hoping that any government in Burma can do anything about this, because one comes to power in Burma by the consent and support of this tiny group of men. That’s an injustice. And it would be irresponsible for me to know about this and just sit back in our comfortable, air conditioned rooms. It would just be wrong, don’t you think? I want to expose these people. Dissect them, comprehend them, write about them, talk about them. Convince everyone that we can get closer to an answer. Change the world for the better.”

“And this is what you want.”

“Yes, this is what I want.”

Sean paused. “It’s not that easy to change the world.”

Carol nodded but said nothing in return.

“How long will you be there?”

“I’ll be there for the full year.” Carol said. “And to be honest, there is something I am worried about.”

“About what?”

“About you.” Carol said, turning around to look at him in the eye. She had a seriousness in her tone that was like a fallen piece of granite in the middle of the highway.

“There is nothing to worry about. I will be perfectly fine.”

“I’m worried that you’ll go crazy thinking of me this whole year.” Carol smiled.

“What? You know, why would I be thinking of you, like, ever? Geez.” Sean crossed his legs and reached for his glass. They both took a sip of wine.

They stayed like that for some time. It was one of those autumn days. The afternoon sun had given way to the strands of colors at dusk, casting the room in gold, then purple, and then blue. Darkness would soon follow, but they didn’t bother turning on the lights.

“I would have made you something, except your gas isn’t working yet.” Carol said.

“It’s okay. We have this bottle of wine from my uncle. He had it sent from France as a graduation gift. I think it would go bad if we don’t drink it by the end of the month.”

“You know that’s completely untrue, right?”

“Well in any case we have to finish it now, since I opened it.” Sean said. “I’m quite content just having you by my side. I wish you didn’t go, but there is no need to worry. At all.”

Carol allowed her head to fall gently on Sean’s shoulder. She picked up his right hand, weighing it with both of her palms. She looked at the lines on his hand. “Sean, just wait for me this year. I want you to promise you’ll think of me, and you’ll only think of me.”

Sean smiled. “Of course I will.” He kissed her on her forehead. A car honked twice in the distance and a deep, female laughter can be heard coming from the street downstairs.

Carol came back to New York five months later, right after the last snowstorm of that winter. Sean came home to a message left on his landline: Sean, this is Carol. Please meet me at Penn Station tomorrow afternoon at five. Please do not ask why. The area code showed that the number she called was from Washington, D.C.

Sean left the office early the next day and took the subway to Penn Station. I might as well have not gone in, he thought. I didn’t get much sleep and I’m still confused. Why is Carol back in the States? Obviously, something had happened in Burma. Could it be that she was just too homesick? That doesn’t sound like Carol at all. Did something happen to her? Or simply that her funding ran out? Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right. We are, after all this talk, just jumping from one thing to the next, pretending that whatever we are chasing after is supposed to be “meaningful.” Still can’t believe Carol just decided to go to Burma, though. Just whom was she trying to convince anyway? She couldn’t possibly know what was she trying to accomplish herself. Maybe it was all for vanity after all, just like the rest of us, working hard against some notion of ambition, filling an emptiness in our own insignificant lives.

But maybe not. It has to be something else. I am mad that she didn’t get to finish whatever she wanted to do. Actually, I would’ve wanted to read her final work. Whatever happened, I wished she stuck it out till the end. Prove to me that you believed in yourself, my dear; that you believed in it hard. That we are really capable of having dreams and that it’s ok to risk something to realize those dreams. That life is bigger than ourselves. But now someone has crushed those dreams. Our chance is gone. Why? What is going to happen to us from now on? The tone in your voice tells me something is different. You are different. Like there is something sinister in there. Wait, not quite. It’s...it’s more like as if something had disappeared. Thrown out. Chipped away by some sort of chisel, shiny, cold, unforgiving---maybe even held by your own hands---chipped away. Brutally. Intentionally. 

“Carol,” Sean called out to her as she came up the stairs from the platform at Penn Station.

Carol said nothing in return. 

“Do you want something to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You need to eat something.” Sean smiled. “Even gum is better than nothing.”

“Then give me that.” Carol said without looking at him.  

They had sex with each other for the first time that night. Carol had asked Sean for it. She had walked behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist as he set her suitcases against the kitchen cabinets in his studio apartment. Sean, please let me make love to you, she had asked. She had him lie down on his bed and quickly undid all of his clothes. She took his penis into her hands and used her mouth and tongue on it. As soon as he was hard, she swung her leg over and lowered herself onto him. When he was completely inside of her, she placed her hands on his chest, and squeezed his penis as tightly as she could. She began moving her hips, her eyes winced. He tried to reach out and hold her, but she pushed his arms away.

“What...what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”

“Please don’t, please...please, don’t ask.” Carol replied. Tears fell out of her eyes. “Just...accommodate me...this time. Just...this time. Accommodate. Give in. Please...do it. For me.”

After they cleaned up, Carol bunched up her body next to Sean’s, naked. She quietly sobbed for a while.

Carol refused to talk about what had happened in Burma, no matter how many times Sean asked. After a while he gave up asking her and approached the various sources and authorities that Carol worked with in Burma. Sean gathered the following facts: Carol had disappeared about four months into her project there. She was traveling to the northern part of the country near the Chinese border for an interview, but she didn’t return on time. She went alone. It was unclear why her mentor didn’t go with her. Shortly after, there was an armed attack on the convent where she was staying. A small anti-government guerilla group with AK-47s came to the convent sometime right before daybreak and torched the building. Carol’s mentor was most likely killed in the attack, but no one knew for sure. The military personnel at the American embassy couldn’t find the body, and after two days the Burmese local authorities declared the case closed and refused to allow the Americans to keep searching the area. Three weeks later Carol appeared at the American embassy in Yangon. She was flown back the next morning in a helicopter to Guam, and then by another helicopter to Yokosuka in Japan, where she got on a military transport plane and flew straight to Washington where she was debriefed. She then found her own way back from D.C. to New York where Sean picked her up.

      A few years passed and the investigations also reached a dead end. Sean had talked to everyone he could possibly think of, and in any case no one seemed to want to discuss this case anymore. After all, it involved one law school student who did some volunteer work and travel writing in Southeast Asia and just happen to wander off for a few weeks unsupervised. There were too many people with the same story. 

The only thing that stood out was that she narrowly escaped a massacre at a convent. It was hard not to think they are connected, the massacre and her disappearance. Was it really just coincidence? Or did she know ahead of time and ran off somewhere? Did someone warn her? If so, who could it be? And where was she, and what did she do for three months? There were no answers to be found, and after enough time had passed Sean had no choice but to simply let the questions fade away into the dustier recesses of his mind.

* * *

“So let’s see...you went to Harvard for undergrad and then took a few years off before going to UVA for law school.”

“That’s right.”

The girl sitting in front of Sean couldn’t have been more than 23 years old. She had straight black hair that ended just below her neckline. Her dark maroon lips formed a perfect focal point on her face, and looked as if they were slowly absorbing everything around her. She wore a gray blazer over a matching skirt, and a pair of black patent leather heels. Her skin reminded Sean of the calm surface of a lake deep in the forest, somewhere only she knew. She introduced herself as Melanie.

“I have to say, you are quite accomplished...editor-in-chief of the Journal on Law and Business, 3.92 average, and let’s see...the manager of the Mostly Shakespeare Society.”

“Thank you. It’s not easy juggling everything at once but somehow it’s worked out so far. Kind of like treading water.”

“I know that feeling.” Sean said.

They talked about a new editor’s note she was writing on stricter scrutiny of Chinese financial disclosures for U.S. security exchanges. Of course, there is a greater need for regulation to protect American investors, Melanie explained. Too many people rush into investing in Chinese companies without access to the requisite information. But I’m not naïve enough, Melanie said, to believe that having a bunch of bureaucrats come up with some abstract rules would really solve the problem. The game is in figuring out creative ways around the rules.

There was something in the way Melanie talked that reminded Sean of something. Yes, Sean thought, he must have been just like her back in law school, when he was interviewing with bigshot partners. There was a sort of masculinity in the way she spoke, but there was also a hint of indecision, as if she’s thoughtfully weighing her options at a high-stakes poker table. 

Melanie uncrossed her legs, lightly pressed them together, and adjusted the hem on her skirt. Sean propped his elbows on his desk and leaned in.

“So, what is it that drives you?” Sean asked.

Melanie sat up. “What drives me?”

“Yes. Well, it’s something I think is quite important to know.” Sean replied. “If you don’t mind, tell me whatever you can think of.”

Melanie looked out the window for a while, and then moved her eyes around, searching for something to focus on. “It has something to do with an old sports car and my older brother.”

“Is he a role model figure for you? Or someone you feel responsible for?”

“It’s neither.”

“Then...?”

“It’s neither.” Melanie shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not something I want to answer right now.”

Sean paused and shrugged. “I’m sorry to have asked.”

“It’s fine. You know, you’re actually the first person who’s asked me about this in an interview. It’s just something that is extremely personal to me. I hope you’re okay with my refusing to share it.”  

“No problem. Let’s just drop it and talk about something else.”

“Sure. I can tell you more about the Mostly Shakespeare production we’re working on.” She said with a wink of her eye.  

“Might as well.”

The apartment was pitch black when Sean walked in the door. It was a bit past midnight, and no one was in the apartment. Carol and Molly left for Portland a few days ago, on their own. It would be good to get out of the city for a while, Carol said, even if Sean couldn’t go with them. House-sitting meant that Carol and Molly would have complete privacy to rest and relax, and Carol didn’t have to worry about having a place to cook or do laundry. They would do a bit of sightseeing during the day and maybe just stroll around the neighborhood at night. Sean apologized again for not being able to take them, but Carol didn’t seem to mind. We’ll be back in two weeks or so, she said.

Sean took his phone out and tapped on Carol’s number. After a few rings, her voicemail message came up. “I’m sorry I can’t be at the phone right now, please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks, and have a wonderful day.”

I guess they’re probably out for a stroll now, Sean thought. Or maybe they are having dinner? Carol eating a Caesar salad and feeding Molly with that really cute bottle she bought at William-Sonoma. Sean took a sip of bourbon and closed his eyes. He could hear Molly giggle as she’s trying to grab onto the bottle with her tiny and flimsy hands. Joni Mitchell was singing in the background, from the CD Carol would always listen to on the plane. He also heard the ruffle of romaine lettuce leaves being shuffled from one side of the plate to another. Carol loved to dig around for croutons. She would pick them out of his salad when she was all out of croutons herself. A bit soggy from sitting in the dressing, so that it’s soft on the outside but still crunchy on the inside. Perfect, she would say.

The crunch of the croutons gave way to another kind of crunch. It was the sound of stiletto heels hitting the hardwood floor. As the sound became more pronounced, it sounded like nails being hammered gently into the floorboards. Carol and Molly didn’t seem to have noticed that someone else was in the room. Finally, he heard a whisper, close to his ear. He could feel the breath on his earlobe, the warmth of someone’s lips. It was Melanie. She came up behind him and gently placed her hands over his eyes. She whispered to him again.

“Listen.”

Sean heard dried leaves being fluffed by a breeze in the yard outside the little house in Portland. The windows began to swing a little in the wind. Joni Mitchell had finished singing and someone had ejected the CD with a tiny little whoosh. The phone rang twice, and someone picked up. Hello? The voice said, but it was not Carol’s. It was Bob’s voice, but hushed and lower. It’s good to hear from you too, sir. Of course. You’d like to talk about Sean. You won’t need to worry...a long pause. Yes, just between you and me. As an old friend, I’d have to say you are right. You can only trust him to a certain point. I’ve told you this before. He is not someone you can confide in. Just let me take care of the rest. No, I know, I hate to do this too. That’s how the business is, that’s how the world works. Thanks. You have a good evening too. To his right, he heard the three partner’s wives at the party, gathered around the deep fryer, chatting amongst themselves. Being at the top means we deserve to be at the top. There is no room for anyone else. Something was sizzling inside the deep fryer, but Sean could not tell what it was. They are nothing without us, the three witches said. Absolutely nothing. They think they built their fortresses with their own ambitions, but we are the ones who enabled them, unlocked the deep well of energy within them. We have sacrificed for them, and we will sacrifice them if we have to. A deed without a name, the three witches chanted. In the distance, there were very muted voices, like the gurgling of lava coming from underneath the ground. The voices were growing louder, and their presence closed in on Sean, as the air around him became thicker. The leaves and the breeze were replaced by raindrops falling on the ground, first softly, and then firmly, with conviction. The voices were coming from protesters, walking towards him from every direction. They were hungry, and they demanded to be fed. There is no politics without bloodshed, said the deep female voice from downstairs.  

Sean desperately tried to listen for Carol’s voice, but there was none. “Her voice was buried in Burma a long time ago,” Melanie whispered. “In the hills far to the north.”

When Sean opened his eyes, the room was pitch black again. Did someone turn off the lights? Sean wondered to himself. His throat felt like someone had gone through it with a stainless steel grater, and he felt like vomiting. He stumbled over to the sink in the dark, filled his bourbon glass with some tap water, and drank the mixture in a single gulp.

Sean carried his empty glass upstairs to the master bedroom and turned on the reading lamp by the side of the bed. The bed looked larger than usual, like an UFO floating in space. Guided by the faint light from the reading lamp, Sean found his way to the walk-in closet in the back of the room. He walked to the back end of the closet and rummaged through the floor. The old bookbag was not there. It was gone.

On his way to work early next morning, Sean stopped in front of Trinity Church, and looked straight down Wall Street. The sun was rising in the east, and rays of light shot through the crevices in between buildings. The protesters were gone. Police officers were busy removing metal barracades, stacking them up on the sidewalk like dead fish by the shore, gleaming in the sunlight. There was trash everywhere. Large police vans were scattered around the area, mixing in with early morning venders pulling their carts in the middle of the street. Garbage trucks manuevered around the tight spaces, their warning sirens shrilling like ominous cries of birds.

People passed by Sean. Men and women in suits. Construction workers in reflective vests. A boy with curly hair on a scooter. An old man with a fedora hat, dangling the very last ends of a cigarette on his lips. 

Everything will be all right, Sean thought. I am going to work as usual, and Carol will be back next week. When Carol comes back next week, I’ll ask her about the letters. Maybe she put it somewhere. Her voice will come back. To me. And everything will be all right. I can have whatever I want.