“Mr. Eikenborn! So lovely to see a familiar face! I didn’t think I would know anyone here. Trip, this is Dick Eikenborn, of—”
Trip, the thusly named brawny young man, cut her off and held his hand out to Dick. “Eikenborn and Sons, yes! Of course. What an honor to meet you, sir. I was so impressed with the M and A work you’ve done in Mexico and the Caribbean. The way you’ve expanded the brand.”
“Ah, thank you…”
“Trip. Trip Davidson. I’m a first year at Blumenthal.”
The assistant, who was quite perky, chimed in.
“And I’m his date.” She looked into his eyes and gently said, “Meegan. Anyway, so nice to be on the other side of a party for a change! Are you waiting for someone?”
“Well, actually,” Dick felt unable to restrain himself, “I’m waiting for Olga.”
“My boss, Olga?” Meegan said. “She’s coming? With you?” He could see her mind working.
“Why? Is it strange? That she would come to a party with me?” Dick heard the insecurity in his voice and regretted being so transparent. But why had she not told this girl about them? Charmaine knew everything important about him.
“No,” Meegan said. “Why wouldn’t she want to come to a party with you, Mr. Eikenborn?” Whether she felt that way or not, Dick made a mental note that the girl had picked up Olga’s social-political skills and he laughed. Meegan continued, “Just surprised that she never mentioned it. She knew I was coming.… The only thing on the calendar was a party for her brother—”
“Yes, she’s meeting me here, after. Soon,” Dick said.
“Well,” Trip interjected, “no reason to spend the time waiting out here, when you could go inside and wait with a drink in your hand, right?”
And this was how instead of making his grand entrance with Olga on his arm, he walked in with Olga’s assistant and her first-year hedge fund associate boyfriend. It only went downhill from there. No sooner had a waiter put drinks into their hands than they found themselves in Blumenthal’s line of sight, his new wife, Laurel, by his side.
“Eikenborn!” Carl Blumenthal called out and they made their way over. Dick awkwardly made introductions to his two new companions, the humiliation compounded by the fact that Carl clearly had never laid eyes on Trip before, so low was he on Carl’s totem pole. Then, just as he thought he could make a getaway, the new Mrs. Blumenthal chimed in.
“But Dick, where is your lovely girlfriend and her fabulous brother? I am such a fan of hers—yours truly, a complete Good Morning, Later addict! But, more than anything, I just love that brother of hers! I was so excited to hear that he was going to stop by.”
“They are on their way, actually, Laurel.”
“Ah, right! His benefit! If I wasn’t playing hostess, I would absolutely have been there. He is just so … real! Oh, but why aren’t you there, Dick?” Laurel asked, genuinely confused.
Dick was unsure how to answer, as he got the distinct impression that revealing his Libertarian leanings now would be a social gaffe. Luckily, in his moment of hesitation, Laurel continued on with her admiration of Olga’s brother.
“Really, I think he could be the Latino Obama. Don’t you? Carl, wasn’t I just saying that the other night?”
And, just then, the Latino Obama himself arrived. While Dick wondered to himself if a Hispanic version would fuck him with regulations the same way original Obama had, the Blumenthals, and then seemingly everyone, swarmed Olga and her brother. He was no fan of Prieto, whose very name Dick found ridiculous, and refused to use. Dick not only didn’t agree with his bumper sticker liberalism, he hated the entire “homeboy” act Prieto put on for the news, and the nickname, to him, was just an extension of an obnoxious persona Dick found, frankly, dangerous. What good could it possibly do young minority men to see someone in Congress using slang and quoting rap music, except to encourage more of the same? And what good could more of that do the country, except to highlight divisions? This guy had a damn law degree from Columbia for God’s sake, so it’s not like he didn’t know how to speak like a normal person. His sister certainly did. Which, of course, compounded his frustrations with her brother even more.
Dick slurped up the signature drink in his hands. A mojito? High in sugar, but he’d chalk this up to his cheat day. He handed a waiter his empty and picked up a fresh one. He made his way to the back of the crowd of guests, mainly women, waiting to take selfies with the brother and gently tugged on Olga’s elbow, trying to get her attention. She was already enthralled in conversation with Mrs. Blumenthal, giving her all the dirt on the anchors of Good Morning, Later.