But He Didn't
Prologue: The year is 1997 and at the height of the Tech Boom.
Startups are all the rage, and a select few have access to
inventions that won’t be readily available to the public
for another decade or more. The Internet is still considered a
passing fad, and only a small percentage of people carry cell
phones. For those of us who were there to bear witness to how
quickly technology has evolved over the past few decades, we
might laugh. What we once considered in 1997 the “Tech Boom”
might now be referred to as the “Stone Age.”
A Thursday Evening in 1997: Rue’s Apartment
Rue Brennan was used to him forgetting. In some ways, she blamed herself. Or at least, she blamed her parents…that was easier. You see, “Rue” meant “regret” and “Brennan” meant “sorrow.” So, her parents had, by choice, given her a name that meant “regret” and “sorrow” and, by golly, she was determined to live up to it.
Rue lived in a one-bedroom walk-up apartment in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. It was one of those “open” designs where there was no door separating the bedroom from the kitchen and dining area, just a cut-out space where a door and a kitchen hatch should be, giving the illusion that the place was larger than it truly was. The bathroom was, unfortunately, just beyond the kitchen. It had a large built-in bookshelf. Rue never understood why you would want to keep books on the shelf in a room that got humid when you ran the shower.
Of course, if it were Spencer, it would be one non-fiction book at a time that he’d conveniently leave on the top of the toilet bowl so it was there the next time he needed it. He’d often disappear into her bathroom with a book, most likely about the French Revolution or some time in history that wasn’t the present, and she wouldn’t hear from him for a good half hour.
It should be noted here that no one else thought this was a bookshelf at all, but a place to hold towels and linens and such. But since Rue only had two towels and as many washcloths to her name, but hundreds of books that she refused to part with, she had to settle on the bathroom to house her collection—for now.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror just as she’d settled on pulling her slightly worn copy of The Alchemist from the shelf. From what she could tell, she didn’t look all that much different from yesterday. Her hair was still a murky dark brown, framing her round face in a bob. The bags under her hazel eyes didn’t seem any baggier, though the crow's feet that extended from the edges did look just a little deeper and more pronounced. Rue was under weight and waif-like, not that you’d know it from her face. No matter how much weight I lose, I still look like a chipmunk with cheeks full of nuts. She decided to blame this on her parents as well as her unfortunate name.
There was a knock on the window. The only actual windows in her little hovel were in the bedroom. She set the book back on the shelf and made her way, barefoot, across the hardwood floor.
Peering through the window, with hair as curly and red as a Raggedy Ann doll, was her neighbor, Midge. She was standing on the fire escape, holding up a bottle of wine and what looked like a semi-wrapped block of cheese. Rue struggled to open the rather stubborn window. Finally…success.
“Happy birthday, Rue!” Midge thrust the bottle of wine through the window by way of presentation. “It’s not super fancy, but eco-friendly and organic, so at least we won’t be drinking pesticides and additives.”
Midge remembered my birthday, Rue thought. But Spencer didn.t.
“Aww, thanks Mensa. You are the sweetest,” Rue smiled sadly in spite of herself. “Why don’t I join you on the ledge? Give me a second to throw something on other than pajamas. I have a red dress that I had planned to wear this evening for a date I no longer appear to be going on. Let me put that on.”
Midge set the bottle down on the windowsill. “And don’t worry,” Rue wrenched the knit dress free from the tiny closet where hangers weren’t really needed to hold the clothes up. They all supported each other as if they feared sudden abandonment. “I’ll wear leggings, so I don’t accidentally flash any pedestrians on the ground level.” Rue darted behind the wall separating the kitchen from the bedroom to change.
“Don’t forget the wine glasses,” Midge called. “And a blanket if you have one. I still have ass prints from sitting on the metal rails last time.” Midge hailed from the Tri-State area, having lived in New York, New Jersey and Philadelphia. Her blended accent reflected that.
Rue pulled on her thick black leggings that came down to her ankles, pulled the dress over her head, and then dutifully grabbed two stemless red wine glasses from the kitchen and a single towel from the bathroom. “Here,” she handed Midge the towel, “the other one is drying over the shower bar. But don’t worry, I don’t mind ass prints.” She laughed. “You can use this one, and I can sit on the rails.”
“Want me to go back upstairs and grab one of mine?” Midge offered.
“Nah, don’t bother,” After offering Midge the glasses, she climbed through the window and onto the fire escape. Midge had set the cloth-wrapped cheese on a checkered red kitchen towel with the bottle of wine and glasses next to it. Rue shimmied to one corner of the re escape, sitting carefully with her feet dangling over the ladder. Midge did the same, on the opposite side, facing her friend.
“This was awfully nice of you, Mensa.”
“Mensa” was Rue’s pet-name for Midge, even though Midge pretended to hate it. They became friends a year ago when they both learned they had a penchant for people-watching from the re escape, Rue on the third floor, Midge on the fifth. They didn’t know who lived on the fourth. Drapes covered the windows, and no one ever seemed to go in or come out of the place.
Rue had just moved to the Big Apple from a little town in Pennsylvania. Manhattan seemed like the best place to go if you wanted to escape from your past and get swallowed up and lost in a big city. No one would think to look for her here, would they? For the first month, she didn’t know anyone.
Then, one night, when Midge had gone through a nasty breakup, Rue invited her neighbor down to her apartment, and consoled her with margaritas and nachos. This is the time when they both learned that tequila was not their friend.
In a semi-drunken state, Midge proclaimed, “The problem is that I’m just too smart for them.” She had waved her plastic margarita cup in the air, threatening to spill it from the fifth floor of the escape.
Her words were ever-so-slightly…slushy. “I told Darius that he was as big a troglodyte as the lot of ‘em. He couldn’t appreciate the fact that I have a 146 IQ and am very smart. That’s why men don’t like me for very long. I’m too much of a challenge. They don’t like to be challenged.” She blinked and swayed slowly in the breeze.
Rue had felt the need to gently call Midge out on her bullshit. “Well, Mensa, are you sure it’s not that they’re put o by you calling them troglodytes?”
Midge eyed her slowly, before laughing so hard she spit a little. “Maybe,” she acknowledged. “And don’t call me ‘Mensa’ when I have a perfectly good name…Midge. I’m named after a blood-sucking y.” She laughed again. The “Philly” in her accent getting stronger the more she drank.
“Here, open the bottle. It’s a twist-top.” Midge brought Rue out of her daydream. Today’s Midge was not drunk and after sending Darius packing, followed by Ben, and then Dave, she decided she had sworn o men for a while.
Rue dutifully opened the bottle. Midge leaned forward and carefully held the glasses out in front of her for Rue to pour them each some wine. She handed one to Rue.
A fresh breeze blew through the street and Rue shivered a little. Perhaps, this was the last day where she could get away with wearing only a dress and leggings as the Fall weather was becoming progressively colder.
“A toast.” Midge raised her glass, the sun shining on her face, making her complexion look even paler in contrast to her crayon red wavy hair. "To the birthday gal! May the next year be full of adventure and fun surprises!”
“I’ll drink to that,” Rue smiled, clinking her glass against Midge’s. The wine was earthier than she expected.
“It’s a Rioja,” Midge said. “I figured it would go with the Manchego I bought.” She broke of a chunk of the cheese with her fingers and handed it, open-palmed, to Rue. Rue took it without complaining. What’s a few germs between friends?. she thought. “I’m probably dying of something right now and don't even know it.
Midge watched as Rue took a nibble of the cheese. “Take another sip of wine, quick,” Midge commanded. “They go well together, right?”
Rue nodded. She wasn’t really sure how to tell, but she was all about free food and beverage, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be spending her meager savings on fancy wine and cheeses anytime soon.
“So, where’s Spencer taking you this evening?” Midge wanted to know.
“Not sure he’s taking me anywhere,” Rue confessed. “I don’t think he even remembered it was my birthday.” Midge let out a huff. “And how long have you been together?”
“Midge, don’t start. I’m already bummed.”
“Sorry,” Midge offered, taking a sip of her wine and sheepishly averting her eyes.
In truth, Spencer and Rue had only been dating a little over a year. Therefore, she reasoned, he’d only been through one birthday previously. And she’s pretty sure he missed that one, too.
It never used to be like this, Rue thought to herself. In the beginning, Spencer seemed sweet and kind and understanding.
After all, she had led a rather sheltered life before moving to New York. He didn’t mind her naivete and seemed excited to introduce the world to her. But lately, the more hob-nobbing he did with the upper echelon of society, the less patient he became with her, as if she suddenly didn’t t in with the new world he was creating for himself.
As if he were somewhere, hearing her thoughts, Midge’s cell phone rang. She set down the wine and cheese and shed it out of her back pocket.
“Hullo?” She raised her eyebrow and waved her hand in confusion. “Spencer? Why are you callin’ me? Oh, yeah, she’s right here.” Midge thrust the phone toward Rue. “He says he’s been trying to call you on the phone all afternoon.”
“Hello?” Rue answered. “We’re out on the re escape,” she yelled over the roar of an ambulance that went barreling down the street.
She covered her left ear and leaned into the phone as if that would make a difference. “Where are you?”
“Down here.” From the street, Spencer waved his arm wildly, phone still against his ear. Rue saw him and waved back. There, stood Spencer. Good old practical Spencer, dressed in a suit and tie with overpriced cu links and shoes that he had professionally shined.
“C’mon up. I’ll let you in,” Rue answered. She could see him nod before hanging up.
“Well, that’s my cue.” Midge stood.
“No, you don’t have to go so soon. Come inside and chat for a bit.”
“No thanks. Spencer is…” she paused to find the right words, “so perfectly coiffed, I’m afraid his head might explode just being in the same room with me.”
“Suit yourself, Mensa. But hey,” she called as her friend started her climb back up to her apartment, “thanks for the wine and cheese. Much appreciated.”
“No prob, friend,” Midge saluted her. “Yuz guys enjoy.” With that, a flash of red hair and bell bottoms that went out of style more than two decades ago ascended to her at above Rue’s.
Simultaneously, there was a knock at the door. Rue grabbed the leftover food and wine and struggled through the window.
“Hang on!” she called. “Almost there!”
She plopped the leftovers on the kitchen counter and sprang to the door, flinging it open with all the enthusiasm of someone who was secretly hoping her boyfriend held a wonderful birthday present in his arms for her. He didn’t.
“Hi, Rue, sorry I’m later than planned,” he apologized, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Work was beastly today. You have no idea. But that’s all over now and I have a surprise for you.” He took her by the shoulders and smiled. Midge was right, his wavy brown hair was quite perfectly placed. His skin equally radiant. Rue suspected it was an experimental age-remedy called “Botox,” but Spencer never offered that info, so she never asked since she wasn’t sure it was even legally on the market yet. She just noticed over in the past year that one day he had worry lines and the next, they seemed to magically disappear.
Rue’s eyes grew wide with hope. “What’s the surprise?” With that, Spenser reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her as if it were the key to the city. “What’s this?” She wrinkled her nose at it, confused.
“A business card,” he answered, eyeing the wine on the table. He tilted the bottle back with one hand, eyeing it distastefully.
“Darwin Fennec,” she read. “Contract Cyber Forensic Consultant and Private Investigator.” She lowered the card.
“What’s this about?”
“Well, you were complaining last week that you were, and I quote, ‘on the fast track to middle age with nothing to show for it’ and wanted a career beyond u journalism and posing nude.”
“That last part was not at all what I said,” she corrected. “And being a figure model for one of the most prestigious art universities in the country is a bit different from the way you describe it. There is some skill to it, and yet, you make me sound like a prostitute posing for a trash magazine on weekends.”
Spencer cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “You know that I support all of your endeavors, darling. But you have to admit, it is a little embarrassing for the founder and CEO of an up-and-coming tech company to have to explain your particular…skill set…to investors.”
“Sorry my career is so embarrassing for you, Spencer.” Rue flopped into a kitchen chair.
“Oh, come on. Be reasonable.” He ran his hand over the top of her head. “That’s not a career, that’s something you do to work your way through college. Not something an older woman does as a—” He stopped when he saw her face and took a moment to glance between his girlfriend and the wine and cheese on the table.
“What am I missing?” he finally asked.
“My birthday, Spencer,” Rue answered flatly. “You’re missing my birthday.”
“Oh, my darling,” He stroked her head again. “I’m so sorry. How unthoughtful of me.” He paused a moment. “So, who left the wine?” He cringed at the label.
“My upstairs neighbor, Midge.”
“Oh, is that the small unpleasant gal with the bright red hair.”
“Yes, but I don’t find her unpleasant at all. She's my friend and I like her…and,” Rue added, “she remembered my birthday.”
“I said I was sorry, and from the looks of the wine she bought, she’s not that good of a friend. I don’t know what that is, but I wouldn’t qualify that dime-store swill as wine.”
“Snob,” Rue wrinkled her nose at him and attempted a smile. Rue rarely got to celebrate birthdays in the past, which made his forgetting sting all the more. Maybe she was making too much of it?
“Tell you what,” he finally said, “get dressed, and I’ll take you someplace really nice for your birthday to celebrate.”
Rue looked down at her dress. “I kinda thought I already was dressed.”
Spencer paused, awkwardly. “Oh, right.”
“You know what, Spencer? Turns out, I’m really tired after a long day. Maybe we can take a raincheck on my birthday dinner?”
“Of course, my darling. Whatever you say.” Spencer seemed somewhat relieved. “Just do me one favor?”
“What’s that?” Spencer pointed toward the business card still clenched tightly between Rue’s fingers. “Call Darwin in the morning.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a guy I hired to do a little contract investigative work for my company. Remember how I told you I suspect B. A. Ellis industries, SpencerTech’s competitor…my competitor…is stealing proprietary info from us?”
Rue’s blank expression indicated that she did not. Spencer dismissed it. “Anyway, I got into a conversation with him waiting in line at the coffee shop and learned he’s looking for an administrative assistant.” He fanned his hands open in the air as if placing something in the lights over Broadway. “Administrative assistant…doesn’t that sound nice? There’s real potential there.”
Rue bit back several expletives. “Thanks for looking out for me, Spencer.” She clenched her jaw.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Spencer chastised. “I told him all about you and he’s eager to interview you.”
“I’m a gure model and journalist. Not sure if there are transferable skills there that lend themselves to administrative work.”
“Come on, now,” Spencer reasoned, “how hard can it be? Answer a few phone calls, schedule a few meetings…”
“While I’m sure there’s more to it than that, how is this better for me than being a journalist?” Rue wanted to know.
“Because you wouldn’t be scrounging for freelance work, day in and day out. It’s a steady, respectable job with growth potential. You would get to work with a detective, which has to be more exciting than…what was your last gig? Covering Drag Queen Bingo at a local diner in Tribeca.”
“I had no idea you thought so highly of my work,” Rue pursed her lips.
Spencer took her shoulders. “Sweetheart, I just see more potential in you. And think of your career move as an investment in…us.”
“How is this an investment in ‘us’?” Rue wanted to know. “This sounds more like an investment in ‘you,’ meaning you require a girlfriend whose work and friends don’t embarrass you.”
“You’re being overly emotional…is it that time of the month again?” Rue’s face turned crimson and it appeared as if she were ready to, literally, let o steam through her nostrils and ears. “I’m sorry. I know you’re still cross with me because I forgot your birthday. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Just do me one teensy favor and call him in the morning? I’ve got a good feeling about him.” Spencer pulled Rue into his chest for a hug. After a minute of her arms awkwardly hanging by her side, she relented, hugging him back and settling into his embrace for a moment.
“Fine,” she conceded, breaking from his hug. "I’ll be certain to reach out to this…” she read the card again, “Darwin Fennec in the morning.”
