Ron suggested that, instead of taking a cab home from the airport, Carl should sleep at his townhouse in Stamford. It was closer to their corporate offices in Manhattan where they were headed tomorrow. The two had just completed a swing through four western cities to visit clients. This was the third such trip in which Ron had included Carl. Because his boss was in line to be the youngest Vice President of Human Resources in the corporation’s history, Carl had been flattered. The older man enjoyed a reputation as an astute politician and a hard worker who made things happen. As a mentor, he was about as good as it got, though Carl realized a gamble was also involved. If Ron’s fortunes changed, then Carl was in trouble too, and Ron had a lot of enemies in the corporation, people who saw him as overly ambitious, aggressive, ruthless.

When the plane landed at 10:10 PM, Carl called his wife, Tara, to tell her he wouldn’t be coming home. She didn’t answer. She was out again, so he left a message. As soon as they reached Ron’s townhouse, both men went to bed, though Carl lay awake for more than an hour, his body still tense from the non-stop marathon of meetings, discussions over dinner, and rushed drives to airports. He was too tall for airline seats, their curve making his lower back ache. As the days passed, Carl had grown tired, very tired.

Ron, however, had not grown tired. His energy level seemed, instead, to rise steadily, as though the short, overweight man fed off the constant activity, fed off the constant pressure. The more crowded their schedule, the more meetings they attended, the more energetic Ron grew, his dark eyes glowing. Carl guessed that his boss was at least twice his own age, and waited for Ron’s adrenalin rush to subside. But it didn’t happen. The older man never hesitated, taking control of every situation, dominating every conversation. Carl wasn’t sure how he did it, but everybody ended up listening to Ron.

Watching the glow of headlights wash softly across the ceiling, Carl also thought about Tara, his wife of nearly three years now. He lay wondering where she had been tonight, and if she’d been alone. He’d learned that his wife was spending time with a man named Tim Goins, a man she had met at the local YMCA where she swam with the master program three nights a week. Tara had apparently started going to restaurants with this man after practice. His wife hadn’t told Carl about her new friend. Rather, their neighbor, Ed, filled him in, saying that Goins was divorced, a partner in a start-up high-tech firm, and that he worked mainly out of his home in Westport.

Tara was bored; Carl could sense it. His wife was growing bored. And when he thought about it, he couldn’t blame her. Carl had been spending less and less time at home, more and more time at work. Even when he did make it home, reports frequently had to be written, phone calls made. His wife was growing restless, and now she had found a new playmate. He wondered how much time she and this fellow, Goins, had been spending together. He wondered how far it had gone. Carl grunted. Well, at least they weren’t hiding yet.

As he rolled over, Carl thought, I need to talk to Tara. But he didn’t know what he would say. They had planned to move to California after the wedding. Tara wanted to learn to surf; she had talked about learning how to surf for years. But that was before he found this job with the human resources department of a Fortune 500 company headquartered in Manhattan. He’d be forced to start again at the bottom of the pecking order with a new organization if they moved to California. He’d be forced to fight his way up again. He didn’t want to do that. He had worked too hard.

The next morning Carl woke early, still worrying about Tara. His thought patterns had not died during sleep. They just dulled, slowed, picking up again even before he opened his eyes. One moment he was asleep, the next Tara and her new friend were back in his mind, worrying him awake. He dressed quickly and went downstairs intent on going outside. Then he heard noises from the kitchen and moved instead in that direction.

Wrapped in a purple bathrobe that hung open over his potbelly and bright orange shorts, Ron cut red peppers on a board with a thick-bladed knife. Without turning, the balding man said in his deep, rasping voice, “I was about to wake you. I want to get to the office early today. I need to prepare my report to the executive staff. What do you think I should say? How do you think our trip went?”

Carl shrugged. “We seemed to make a good impression.”

“I made a good impression, Carl. You didn’t contribute much of anything.”

“Every time I started to speak, you cut me off.”

Ron beat eggs in a bowl, added a little milk, salt and pepper, and beat them again. “You have to work on your timing, Carl. When I’m making a point with somebody, don’t interrupt me, don’t try to add your own opinion. First, you haven’t been around long enough to offer much of value. Second, interjecting your two cents’ worth breaks the momentum. Your job is to pay attention to the people I’m not concentrating on. You need to be quicker; you need to think faster. Also, you can’t afford to get tired when we’re on trips. People don’t like it when an executive’s assistant yawns during meetings.

“I hope you like omelets. I’m making you a cheese omelet with red and yellow peppers and chopped green onions.” He poured the beaten eggs into two small omelet pans. “Why are you always tired? Don’t you get enough sleep at home? Does your wife keep you awake at nights?” Ron winked.

Carl sat down at the kitchen table, a slice of highly varnished wood cut from the trunk of a large tree, the rings showing clearly. Two white porcelain plates with red roses around the edge had been set, along with silverware, pale-blue cloth napkins, and coffee mugs. “I don’t spend enough time at home to worry about sleep.”

Sliding slices of bread into a toaster, Ron asked, “Is that a problem, your being away from home so much? What does your wife think about you being gone most of the week?”

“She doesn’t like it.” Carl shrugged. “But that’s life. She finds things to do. She works in a law office as a paralegal. She also swims a lot.”

“All she likes about your job is the paycheck, right?” Ron shook his head. “My first wife divorced me because she couldn’t deal with the constant travel. Or because she didn’t want to. One day when I flew back in, she was gone. She left a note saying my job was obvious more important than our marriage. She was right; my job does come first, though she was probably the only woman I’ve ever really loved. Choices, Carl, we all have to make choices, to define our priorities.” Carrying one of the pans to the table, Ron then shoveled the omelet onto Carl’s plate. “I tried something different with my second wife. I tried an open marriage. I told her beforehand how much I would be traveling, that I wasn’t willing to change my lifestyle. I told her that to become jealous of my work would be a waste of time. I encouraged her to find other things to do, other friends. I encouraged her even to have affairs, so long as they were discreet and so long as she was around when I got home.”

Sitting down at the table with the second omelet on his own plate, Ron continued. “It went pretty well for a while. We shared our sexual adventures. It made our own sex life more exciting. I had the best of both worlds. She fit right in. It didn’t seem to bother her that my work came first. Your work has to come first, Carl. In order to succeed in this company, you have to love what you are doing; you have to be willing to make sacrifices. You have to be willing to make your job number one.”

“What happened to your second wife?” Carl glanced around. “It looks like you’re living alone now.”

“What happened?” Ron laughed. “I got jealous. That’s what happened. Not Glenda, but me; I was the one who got jealous. She was enjoying our arrangement too much. One night we went to a party. I ended up in bed with the hostess, mainly, I think, because by that time it had turned into a competition. When I came back downstairs, everyone was gone except my wife and the host. They were sitting naked on the couch. My wife asked, ‘Did you have a good time?’ When I replied, ‘Yes,’ she nodded and said, ‘So did we. In fact, we are thinking about fucking again right here on the couch. Do you want to watch?’ That was too much for me. Glenda was a wild one.” Ron winked again. “But, then, most women are when you give them the chance; most women want to be wild; that’s one of their fantasies.”