The F-Word

“Bailey who?”

“Bailey Abrams. My PA.”

“Oh. Sure. Nice girl. Plain-looking, but smart as shit.” His brow furrows. “Don’t tell me something happened to her.”

“No. No, she’s fine.”

“Well, that’s good. I mean, like I said, she’s nice. Plus, you’d be out of business without her.”

“What?”

“Hey, the lady runs your office. We both know that.”

I sigh. Drink some more beer. Look around, catch the barmaid’s eye and signal for refills.

“You’re right. She does. I’d be lost without her. She’s smart and dedicated and efficient and—”

“And she’s thinking of quitting?”

“No.”

“She wants a big raise and you’re asking for my advice?”

“If she asked for a big raise I’d give it to her. And why would I ask for your advice? I’m the guy with the degree in finance, remember?”

“You’re right. If I knew anything about money I’d never have loaned you five bucks for gas our junior year in high school without first getting you to sign an I.O.U.”

“Dammit, will you stop fucking around? I have a problem here and—”

The beers arrive. Coop looks at me through narrowed eyes. Then he looks at the barmaid.

“Two burgers,” he tells her. “Cheese. Pickles. Onions. Fries.” She walks away and he gives me another look. “I have the feeling we’re gonna need sustenance to get through whatever comes next. Am I right?”

I hesitate. Then I shrug my shoulders.

“So,” Coop says, “what’s the deal here?”

I tell him I’m not sure where to start. Coop, ever the rational scientist, suggests that I begin at the beginning.

And I do.

He listens intently as I describe Bailey seeming upset and then losing her cool during a phone conversation with her mother. That impresses him, same as it did me. He’s known her for a long time, well enough to find it difficult to imagine her going all emotional.

I explain what the phone call was about. The wedding Saturday in upstate New York. The big family gathering. The pressure from her mom. The pressure from her cousin. The cousin as a lifelong pain in the ass.

The burgers arrive.

We bite into them. They’re good—the place has always had great bar food—but my story holds Cooper’s attention. I can see him hating Violet and sharing my distress at Bailey’s unhappiness.

Then I pause.

“So,” I finally say, “I came up with a solution.”

Coop chomps down on a french fry. “Damn right, you did.” Another chomp. “You offered to play the part of boyfriend and go to the wedding with her.”

My jaw would drop, but that wouldn’t go over too well considering that I have a mouthful of hamburger.

“How’d you know?”