Story of a Sociopath

  That same night Olivia demanded that I take her out to dinner before going back to her apartment, and insisted on going to a fashionable New York restaurant with two Michelin stars. I refused. It was one thing to deceive Esther, but quite another to make a fool of her, which is what would have happened had anyone seen us together. I convinced Olivia that we should go to Chinatown, to a small Chinese restaurant where the food wasn’t bad. She protested but agreed; she didn’t have any choice.

  We arrived at eight and they seated us in a small booth. Halfway through the dinner, Olivia got up to use the restroom. I stayed where I was, bored, waiting for her, wishing dinner would end. When she got back she was trying not to laugh.

  “Who do you think is having dinner here?” she said, with a mocking expression.

  “Who?” I asked, mistrustfully.

  “Your darling Esther. Did you know? Did you know that she would be having dinner here tonight? The guy she’s with is very attractive. You must know him, he’s probably a friend of yours…Tall, blond, blue eyes, muscular…Very classy; yes, sir, very classy. If you were to see them…anyone would say they were in love.”

  “Shut up!” I told her, repressing my rage.

  There was no need for her to offer further details. The guy in question could only be my brother.

  “Come on, don’t get mad, these things happen. Your Esther looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but you have to be wary of girls like that,” she continued, with glee.

  “You’re an idiot. Esther’s having dinner with my brother. So quit inventing romantic scenarios.”

  “Your brother? How strange! You don’t look anything alike…He’s so blond…”

  “So what? My father was blond and my mother was dark,” I replied angrily. I couldn’t stand explaining myself to Olivia, whom I considered to be nothing more than a whore I paid to entertain me.

  “Well, your girlfriend and your brother seem to get along very well,” Olivia commented again, knowing she was upsetting me.

  “Don’t even think of making insinuations like that or you’ll pay the price,” I threatened.

  I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice or a twist of cruelty showing on my face, but Olivia realized that if she continued provoking me, she’d pay, really pay.

  “They didn’t see me,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “That’s good. I can’t justify having dinner with you,” I said, looking at her scornfully.

  “Well, I’m a model. We could be discussing you hiring me for some campaign or other,” she suggested in a small voice.

  “Do you think Esther’s stupid? She’s already wondering why she let herself be convinced to give you the role in the beer advertisement. You weren’t the right fit. If she sees me with you…”

  “Well, she’s with your brother.”

  “Exactly, she’s with my brother. She’s his shoulder to cry on.”

  “Then what shall we do?”

  “They’re by the entrance? We’ll have to stay here until they leave.”

  And that’s what we did. I know that Olivia would have liked to erase that night from her life. I used her to vent all the fury I felt at the thought of Esther in Jaime’s company. It’s not that I thought they were sleeping together. Esther’s loyalty and Jaime’s sense of honor would have held them both back, but the fact that they were still seeing each other and that Olivia had been able to guess that they were in love from a single glance hurt me so much my blood ran cold.

  When I got home Esther had already arrived. She seemed to be sleeping soundly.

  She spoke to me about Jaime the next day. I don’t know if it was because she had seen us at the restaurant in spite of our efforts or if she’d simply guessed that the anger I was trying to control was an indication that I had seen them. It was lunchtime, and we were eating sandwiches in my office.

  “I had dinner with Jaime last night.”

  She said it without anything special in her tone of voice. I started at her confession.

  “Really? You didn’t tell me you’d planned to meet.” I tried to keep my voice as neutral as hers.

  “It was something we decided on in the spur of the moment…It wasn’t planned. Well, anyway, we had dinner. He wanted to tell me something. He’s getting married.”

  I didn’t know how to reply, but I did feel relieved. If Jaime was getting married, Esther would belong to me even more. I began to smile.

  “Do you think it’s funny?” Esther asked, rather irritated.

  “So he’s getting married…Good boy. He graduated with a good degree, he’s inherited his father’s office, and obviously the next step was to get married. Who is she?”

  “A classmate from college. The daughter of one of your family’s lawyer friends; I think her name is Eleanor Hudson. Jaime told me that you know her.”

  “Eleanor! Of course, she’s perfect for Jaime,” I said. “Her father has a practice that deals with divorces and inheritances. He’s made a lot of money. He’s handled the divorces of some of the richest people in New York. Aunt Emma used to invite them to spend the odd weekend in Newport. No doubt John would have been pleased at his son marrying a Hudson. Yes, that’s perfect. The perfect couple. She studied law like Jaime too. They’ve got a lot in common,” I added, watching Esther’s face.

  I could tell that she was uncomfortable, but she had great self-control so she didn’t move a muscle.

  “I’ve told him he should invite you.” She tried to move the conversation in a direction where I’d feel less comfortable.

  “There’s no reason for him to do that, and you shouldn’t have asked him to. I’m done with the Spencers forever.”

  “Thomas, you carry their name. You are a Spencer; it’s what your mother wanted, so don’t reject who you are.”

  “Do I have to remind you that they were the ones who rejected me?” I asked, upset.

  “You did everything possible to arrive at an unsustainable situation,” she reproached me.

  “Great, so now you’re on their side!”

  “No, no, I’m not taking their side. You know I’m speaking the truth.”

  “What truth? Their version? Yours?” I exclaimed.

  “Let’s not fight, Thomas. In any case, I think you should go if they invite you. It would be an opportunity to normalize your relationship with your family. Jaime’s told me that your grandparents and your aunt Emma still regret that things got so out of hand.”

  “They were the ones who threw me out,” I insisted.

  “If they invite you, will you go?”

  “I don’t like hypocritical scenes, Esther, you should already know that. I don’t think the Spencer family misses me. Nor do I miss them.”

  “I don’t understand you, Thomas. We all need a family. You don’t even want to have anything to do with your maternal grandparents or your uncle Oswaldo. And you have to agree with me that you have nothing to hold against them. You haven’t seen them since your father’s funeral.”

  “I don’t have anything in common with my mother’s family. I’ve never felt comfortable with them. What brought all this on, Esther?” I asked angrily.

  “Your brother is getting married, Thomas. I don’t know whether or not he’ll invite you, but if he does I think you ought to accept. I’m just giving you my opinion.”

  “What else did he tell you? If you had dinner with him you must have had time to talk about something other than his wedding.”

  “Mainly he wanted me to know that he had made that decision, nothing more.”

  “And why did he want you to know?” I asked, wary of her response.

  “Because…Do you want the truth, Thomas? I’ll tell you. You already know that Jaime and I…Well, at one point there could have been something more between us…”

  “But there isn’t,” I asserted harshly.

  “No, there isn’t, nor has there been, but even so…Forget it, you can’t understand. I hope that girl, Eleanor, makes him very happy.”

>   Paul Hard came into the office and we put an end to the conversation. Paul brought a proposal. A New York man hoping to win a seat in Congress wanted to hire us to run his campaign. Having worked as an assistant to a senator who had recently passed away, he had decided that this was his moment to take the plunge into electoral politics. He had made a name for himself as a lawyer, spending one day a week providing free counsel on civil cases for residents in marginalized areas; in particular, he had tried to help immigrants gain legal status…Nothing compromising.

  “Very astute, what else?” I asked Paul.

  “I still don’t know much about him. Give me a day and I’ll give you the lowdown. He’s come on the recommendation of an old friend.”

  “Why us?” asked Esther.

  “I assume because we already have a reputation but we’re not very expensive. If he had a lot of money he would have found himself a firm with experience running political campaigns.”

  “Global Communication has experience with political campaigns, Paul. May I remind you that in the U.K. I ran the campaign of a new political party, the Rural Party, and directed those of other candidates,” I stated proudly.

  “Well then, he must have read about that in the press and that’s why he’s come to us,” Paul responded sarcastically.

  “I’m not sure I want us to get involved in politics here. I’d prefer to continue with product advertisement,” Esther intervened.

  “We can’t miss this boat. If it works out, it will bring in work,” Paul declared.

  “Have you accepted the contract?” Esther turned to Paul.

  “You guys are the bosses, it’s up to you; I’m just an esteemed employee. All I’ve done is arrange for him to come in for a meeting tomorrow afternoon. At five, when the office is quietest. Is that okay?”

  It was all right with me, but not so much with Esther. She thought that politicians were too much hard work and caused major headaches. Roy Parker was a prime example.

  “They’re different from mere mortals…Ambitious, egomaniacal, selfish, with the spirit of artists…” Esther complained.

  “But they’re not all the same,” Paul parried.

  “They’re worse than artists. In truth, they are artists; if they weren’t, they wouldn’t be able to transform themselves when they step onto a stage. The worst is that they end up thinking that they are essential. They even believe their own hype,” Esther argued.

  In spite of her reluctance, we met with Ralph Morgan.

  Ralph had experience in politics, so he did what politicians do when they spring into action. He arrived accompanied by his campaign manager, Nicholas Carter.

  “Esther…Thomas…I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and all good,” Ralph said after shaking hands, offering his most genuine smile.

  I realized it right away. Esther liked Ralph. Yes, I could feel the tension that’s so hard to disguise when a woman finds a man attractive or vice versa.

  It was Carter who got the conversation started, making clear what he expected of us: “Ralph has the possibility of winning a seat in Congress. It won’t be easy but it’s not unreachable. First he needs to win the Democratic primary, and then he’ll have to duke it out against the Republican candidate, a guy who’s been in Congress his whole life and has enough money to run a strong campaign.”

  Esther held up a hand, interrupting Carter, who frowned; he was used to being in charge.

  “Before you continue, Mr. Carter, we want to make it clear that we have no intention of getting involved in political campaigns beyond what is purely formal; you know, the paraphernalia: organizing appearances, ordering balloons and T-shirts, designing flyers, candidate photo shoots…But we don’t want to get involved on the political side. By that I mean that we will not take part in the development of your slogans or strategies to beat your adversaries.”

  “Well, you do speak plainly,” Carter replied, annoyed.

  “We prefer to clarify things before you tell us anything more than we need to know in case you do decide you might want us to work with you,” Esther replied.

  Paul Hard and I looked at each other uncomfortably. Esther was sidelining us. It seemed like she alone would decide whether we would take the job.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Sabatti,” Ralph said, looking her firmly in the eye.

  Esther barely held Ralph’s gaze and then looked at me, waiting for me to say something. It was clear that she was doing everything possible to put Morgan and Carter off.

  “We have experience in political campaigns,” I said, looking at Carter. “In fact, we have a number of politicians among the clients of our London office, so perhaps we might be able to help you.”

  “We don’t have a big budget, at least not at the moment, so we need whoever works with us to give it their all—and for that it’s essential to get to know Ralph, to believe in him. Only by believing in someone can you convince other people to do the same,” Carter replied, looking at his watch and thinking that they were wasting their time.

  “Come on, Nicholas, these guys don’t need to believe in me…They’re professionals, we’re hiring them to do a job and, well…well, I agree with Ms. Sabatti: it’s up to us to take care of the politics and they can deal with everything else, which is equally important. There’s no reason for them to get involved in our battle against the other candidates.” Ralph Morgan left no room for doubt: he had decided that he wanted us to work for him.

  Carter held him back. “Perhaps they need to think about it, Ralph.”

  “Bearing in mind what Ms. Sabatti has said, I think it would be best for us to explain what we need and for them to present us with a plan and a quote to determine whether we can afford it. If so, we’ll come to an agreement, but if it’s too much for us…well, it will have been a pleasure to have met you, in any case,” Ralph Morgan declared.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Esther agreed.

  “Well then…” Carter seemed uncomfortable.

  “Well then, show them the plan you’ve come up with for how we want to launch the campaign, these guys will work out an estimate, send it to us and we’ll make a decision and draw up the framework for our collaboration based on that. I don’t think it needs to be any more complicated. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great,” replied Paul.

  Nicholas Carter looked at Ralph Morgan with displeasure, but he didn’t say anything. Esther seemed uncomfortable too.

  “Great, then let’s get to work and take a look at those papers,” Paul said cheerfully, as if we were all in agreement.

  We humored him. We spent a couple of hours examining the campaign plan and Esther outlined what they could expect from us.

  “If you give us three or four days, we’ll send you an estimate,” I proposed.

  “My, you do work fast,” Carter commented.

  “We don’t want to waste your time or our own. It will be a rough estimate, but sufficiently detailed that there won’t be any unpleasant surprises,” I assured him.

  When they left Paul poured three whiskeys without asking us. He drank one of them down in a single gulp and I would have done the same if Esther hadn’t been there.

  “Don’t you like Ralph Morgan?” I asked Esther.

  “Why wouldn’t I like him? It’s just that I don’t want us to get involved in any problems and politicians are always a source of conflict. They ask you to design a poster and you end up facing off with their adversaries as if they were your own.”

  “If they agree that we do half the work and they pay us for it, then it’s a good deal,” Paul observed.

  “Yes, it would be a stroke of luck; it seems like Morgan likes us.” I looked at Esther while I was talking.

  “He seems like a good guy and he’s got a sad backstory to sell which could earn him a few votes,” Paul interrupted me.

  “What backstory?” Esther asked with curiosity.

  “He’s got a seven-year-old daughter with heart disease. His wife had
to give up her job to take care of her full-time.”

  “While Morgan busies himself working toward his own ambitions. You men are all the same,” Esther replied grumpily.

  “Well, someone has to support the pair of them,” Paul said, amusing himself by provoking her.

  “And why doesn’t he stay at home taking care of his daughter?” Esther looked at Paul defiantly.

  “Would you do that?” Paul asked her.

  “Do what?”

  “Would you stop caring for your sick daughter in order to work?”

  “Don’t try and trick me, Paul.” Esther raised her voice. She was really on edge.

  “I’m not playing tricks, I just asked you a question. Mothers usually prefer to care for their sick children. Naturally we men could also do it, but in the end it’s your instinct that makes you decide to stay with your child.”

  “That sounds awfully antiquated, Paul. Why not share the responsibility between them? Why don’t they both give up stellar careers and settle for working to support the family and being with their daughter? Why is it just Morgan’s wife who has to make a sacrifice? Is she somehow worth less than him?”

  “She’s got you there, Paul; admit that Esther’s beaten you,” I intervened, trying to mediate.

  “It’s the feminist century, I realize that. Even so, I admire Mrs. Morgan for being able to sacrifice her ambitions to take care of her daughter and support her husband in running for Congress.” Paul didn’t seem to want to surrender.

  “Of course, you men admire women who are prepared to sacrifice themselves on the altar of your ambitions.”

  There was no point in prolonging that stupid fight, so I told Paul that it was time for us to leave. We would get to work on the estimate for Morgan the next day.

  We left the office in silence. I knew that Esther’s mind was in turmoil. First we had argued about Jaime’s wedding, then I had agreed to take on part of Morgan’s campaign. We barely spoke until we got home. She surprised me as she always did: “You know what, Thomas? I don’t understand why my feelings don’t matter to you.”

  I repressed my response. I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to break up with me. It was obvious that she was referring to her feelings toward my brother, which I ignored as though they had never existed in the past and didn’t exist right then.