... is that I could have been other men, one of those men being a corporate lawyer privy to massive scale capers and the dangers therein. If I were him, maybe turning 40 would have been like:
A lawyer walked into a party. His jacket was deftly tailored to swell around his broad shoulders and pull in towards the rigid, slender core of his frame. A mature woman noticed this, and how his tan loafers contrasted the ash and blue of his suit. She looked down at her chocolate slacks, which were snug around the ample, contoured thighs she'd earned over a decade of hot yoga. She wondered if tan shoes would match or clash with her suit.
The lawyer was free of jewelry, rings and such, except for one of those fancy wearables, a watch that was also a phone, a calendar, and a personal trainer. He stood in the doorway and scrolled through something on his wrist machine before he walked in. The open french doors framed him like a brown James Bond on the cusp of confronting the bad guy.
The lawyer moved in the direction of the bar. She'd never seen him before.
These parties weren't for newcomers, and she could tell he'd been invited by someone important. No one walks into the great room of the Commence Club with his sort of confidence without having been vetted and having passed tests. She wondered out loud whether it was the Senator himself or the Bishop, or one of the businessmen clones wrapped in their plush robes of cigar smoke. He's definitely not with any of them, she thought. His body language whispered fatigue, and there are no men more tiring than businessmen.
The lawyer walked passed the men in pinstripes without so much as a nod. He leaned against the bar and ordered quickly. A bar girl chased his double scotch with a smile. He nodded, turned, and leaned back against the bar, his eyes falling directly on the woman whom had watched his entrance with such curiosity. He lingered and led himself over, without hesitation, to her.
She welcomed him with a playful smirk and they began a conversation.
His name was Michael and, to her surprise, he hadn't been invited. He was walking past, he told her, after a late night at the firm and decided he wanted to see the city from above his office for a change. This was the highest spot, he said, being at the top of the tallest building in the region.
She shared what she was doing there, that she was only slightly interested in politics, only to the extent it either interfered or uplifted her true passion in the Museum of Fine Art. He gave her his card and asked her what she did for a living. She said she was an organizer. He laughed and asked what kind of community organizer hangs out at the Commence Club. She said she was an organizer of capital.
"An organizer of capital? Haven't heard that one," he took a heavy sip, his second since walking over to her.
"That's an oldie but goodie, young Michael. How old are you anyway? Not that it matters. You are certainly man enough by the look of you." She covered her embarrassment at leaning in to the flirt by leaning back and sipping her glass of Malbec. She was new to this sort of directness.
"Well that's pretty forward of you," he said with an encouraging smile and spent a minute studying her lips. They were full, the color of wine lit by candlelight. It wasn't make-up or the Malbec. She had naturally dark lips, like cut plums, he thought.
"I'm not here for long, my friend. And my time is valuable," she said, tucking her bottom lip under her teeth.
"Clearly, your time is priceless. Well, I turned 40 today, and I don't feel a day over 25, in the good and bad ways of that. I don't feel old, but the last 15 years feel like one long day, echoing. I honestly don't know what it means to be 40. I've got no kids. No wife. Just work. And on days like today, work is a bear on fire." He looked over at the door and finished his drink with a gulp.
"Hmm. What happened today? I mean besides turning 40. And is there anything a grown woman can do to help make it a happy birthday?" She was pouring it on now and not feeling shy about it anymore.
The lawyer's attention was broken by the Senator, who walked into the room glistening with the shine of power.
"He happens. Everyday." He looked over at the Senator and left her other questions hanging. Through all the business clones clamoring for a handshake, the Senator walked directly over to the lawyer and literally bowed.
"Consigliere," the Senator started with overdone reverence. "May I pull you from the lovely company you are keeping for a moment. I need a word if you have an ear."
"Of course, Senator. Will you excuse me?" He moved quickly in the direction of the door, but the Senator put a hand on his forearm to stop him.
"Let's get a table. Maybe you can join us a bit later, Mrs...?" The Senator leaned in. The lawyer was embarrassed that he hadn't asked her name.
"Jess. Just Jess," she said looking at the lawyer. "And maybe I will join you, Senator. Thank you for your time counselor. I hope you might have a bit more time later." She smiled.
"I'm certain I might," the lawyer smiled back.
"Equivocated like a good lawyer," she said with an eye roll. "Well, it takes one to know one. I'm certain you might have a happy birthday, Mr. Michael."
The lawyer nodded a smile and walked away with the Senator. They settled at a table facing the new football stadium under construction and turned their chairs out so that no one could see their lips. Jess walked to the bar and ordered another scotch to send over to the lawyer with her card. She moved towards the door, stopping to take a last look at him and again noticed his broad shoulders. She perused down his back and back up his neck to see a slight gleam under his hair. His curls were thinning in the back.
"40 looks good on him," she said out loud to herself. "But time waits for no man."
The lawyer felt her gaze and turned toward her just as she turned and walked out. He watched her full hips and supple bottom rock her mahogany slacks rhythmically. He lost track of what the Senator was saying until the Senator snapped at him.
"Mike! You do realize this is grounds for disbarment. Shit, this is jail time! Focus, man. We don't have a lot of time." The Senator placed a minuscule snuff box on the table between them. The lawyer took it and looked it over with a weariness. He opened it and dipped a pinky in, snorting a bump of white powder into each nostril. He placed the box in his jacket pocket and looked around the room, finally settling on a man with bushy hair in a clerical collar.
"He's here."
On the Frontlines of the Future
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