The Thorne at My Side

CHAPTER 23

Meanwhile in DC

AUSTIN

“Okay everyone, it is 9:00 and I am calling this meeting of the Thorne Media Corporation Board to order.”

Today is a great fucking day. I get to present the first earnings report for AI Media. We have crushed it. The product has been live for nine weeks and we’ve already cleared our initial investment. From here on out, there will be some maintenance costs, but it’s essentially pure profit.

Not only do I get to show strong revenue numbers, I get to share that we are not being sued. We were able to prove that the speeches AIM wrote and the news articles it created for users were based on articles created by TMC only and from content uploaded by users under contract.

Basically we aren't being sued because Maggie and her team uploaded everything willingly.

It sucks.

But it's true.

And it’s been eating away at me.

I try to stuff the uneasy feeling down and focus on the activity in the room. This is the last board meeting of the year. Next year Dad turns 65, the widely accepted retirement age. I expect him to announce his succession plan today.

I need a win. I’ve been in a funk since learning that Maggie and TalkShopGirl are the same woman. The perfect woman in fact. One that I’ve both had and lost.

It was painful to be in the same room on Election Night. I watched every emotion dance across her face and wanted to share them all. The anticipation as results came in. The high of the win. The low of when she realized AI Media had written the speech.

That one hurt the most.

After our missed, but actually realized, connection at Lapis I’ve started to carry the SMS Connect phone around with me. It’s a pathetic attachment to hope. Delusional even. But my logic is if she messages me I want to be there for her right away.

When I watched her face fall during the acceptance speech I desperately wanted to comfort her as DCFox. I tried to give her a reassuring smile from across the room as I clutched the little phone in my pocket.

It wasn’t enough.

A week after the election, I got an email telling me Jorge would be our contact for President-Elect Quinn’s team. I emailed him and asked where Maggie was. Jorge told me after she and Sam were fired, Maggie went back home to upstate New York. So, all the times I found myself walking around her neighborhood hoping to catch a glimpse of her were for nothing.

I haven't responded to her SMS message from that night. I don’t know what to say. She left it final. In truth I don't have a way to explain what happened. What could I possibly say? But I still carry this thing around, still paying the monthly fee, in the hope that she'll reach out again. And I will hold on to the hope a little while longer because TalkShopGirl, Maggie, hasn’t given up on me, either. I would have been notified by SMS Connect so while the odds aren’t with me, I haven’t lost all hope.

In the last few weeks I’ve thrown myself into work. I've hired several additional developers to review our code and look for biases. We're also working on a new tab for the app that would show users articles that other people are seeing. Instead of a “for you” page, a “for them” page. I don't know if anyone will use it but it's a way to try and open the user's eyes to help prevent them from getting stuck in their own algorithm.

That can't be bad, right?

Would Maggie be proud of it?

Of me?

I shake my head as the Secretary of the Board wraps up his report. I’ll be up soon. Maybe an announcement from Dad to the board will bolster my confidence. Make me feel like the tycoon I’ve been raised to be.

“Let’s quickly work our way through divisional reports. The investor meeting next month during earnings season will be where we discuss details so let’s keep things at a high level here. We’ll go in our typical order. Board Members, please reserve your questions and comments until the end.”

I sit up a little straighter in my seat. Show time.

Newspaper is first, sad.

Podcasts is next, not bad.

New media is next. I’m not the president of the division but I’ve been allowed to operate on my own while developing AIM.

“I’m excited to share that our division is reporting a profit with only ten days left in the year.” I lift my chin, expecting to have the conversation passed to me because I’m the reason for the influx of cash. “Our digital news production is a major contributor but the other assets in our division are also performing well. We expect performance to continue into the new year.”

The division president for publishing starts sharing his summary and I blink rapidly while looking around the room.

Nothing?

Absolutely nothing about AI Media or the lawsuit I rescued us from.

I stare at my father at the head of the table and mentally beg him to look at me. Maybe he’ll call me out separately. He’s never done that before but I only received my voting seat a year ago so, there hasn’t been much opportunity.

The division presidents wrap up and the meeting moves on without a word about my product. No acknowledgement. No recognition.

He’s really playing this one close to the vest.

I reach into my pocket under the table and run my thumb along the SMS Connect phone. It’s become a sort of talisman. It’s what brought me to Maggie in the first place. Never mind the fact that it’s the reason Maggie isn’t currently talking to me.

“Before we adjourn and go into end of year mode I wanted to share something.” Dad starts and I grasp the device like it’s the top hold on the wall. “Next year marks a milestone for me and we’ll be celebrating throughout the year. As many of you know I’ll be 65 and because of that we’ll spend the year marking my 30th year at the helm of my family’s corporation. It has been the work of my lifetime to get to this point and I am excited to continue in this position for years to come.”

The room fills with polite applause. I’m slow on the uptake but I join in. I tow the line to be polite but inside I am furious.

Grandpa left the company when he turned 65. Dad was 35 at the time.

Now, 30 years later, I expected the tradition to continue.

What do I have to do to prove myself to him?

Why doesn’t he want me to succeed?

What do I do now?

◆◆◆

A few days later I’m dressed in a tux at the family Christmas Eve party. Don’t picture Norman Rockwell, tonight is a high society affair. It's about 250 people at my father’s estate in Mclean, fully catered, with a pianist playing soft music in the corridor. Everyone is in black tie and the multiple trees throughout the first floor have been professionally decorated according to the theme. This year it is winter wonderland so there is fake snow along the baseboards, crystal snowflakes hung with fishing line from the ceiling, and twinkle lights covering every other surface. It looks like frosty the snowman threw up all over my father's home. Elle and I arrived together but she quickly disappeared and now I find myself stuck between Dad's head legal counsel and one of his golf buddies.

“The numbers out of AI Media look good. And the way you maneuvered to dodge that lawsuit? Bravo, son.”

I give him a closed lip smile because I'm not proud of how I dodged that lawsuit for Dad. In fact, I’m not happy with my dad at all. I haven’t spoken to him since the meeting.

Before that meeting I was able to throw myself at work to escape the misery of my Maggie situation. Work is no longer an oasis.

Basically, I’m miserable everywhere, all the time.

I bow out of the conversation they were having and walk slowly around the party sipping my old fashioned. I look at all these people who would rather spend their Christmas Eve trying to impress my billionaire father than be with their own families. Most of them are Dad’s age or older, their children would be my age now, but when I was younger I don't remember other kids being at these parties. So did they spend Christmas Eve with nannies? With their grandparents?

More and more these days I'm questioning the way I've done everything my entire life.

I turn the corner and find Elle standing near the doors that lead to the terrace. When she spots me she waves me over.

"Bro, get a load of this!" She pulls my shoulders in front of her so I can peek out the window of the french doors.

At first I don't see anything but then I squint and can make out two figures that are wrapped around each other.

"There is nothing remotely sexy about this party. What is wrong with people?" I say as I turn back to Elle.

"Well, for one, they're each married to other people," she grins.

"I see you got the Thorne gene for endless gossip."

She punches me in the shoulder. "C'mon, even you have to admit that is scandalous. I wonder if Dad has a photographer on call ready to document this. I feel like he's a House rep or something."

"Well, either way, Dad will find a way to profit off of this."

"He always does."

"Should we find the man and take the obligatory family photo?" I ask as I dump the last drops of my drink down my throat.

"Sure, better do it now before I get too drunk and start to look it." Elle says as she stands up from where she was leaning. “Let’s find Mom.”

I hold out my elbow for her to hook her arm through. Then the two of us try to find Laura in the crowd. When we were little she came to the parties with us and would pose in the photo with Dad. She bragged about us to his colleagues and their wives.

When I got older I’d hear the whispers about her. They’d be questioning why she would attend the party. Was she trying to get him back?

They called her desperate and pathetic. And they’d give Elle and I pitying looks.

As a teenager I got angry about it. One time I lashed out at a woman who called her a tacky, gold digger but Elle was next to me and she pulled me away before I could get more than “Hey, you don’t know anything” out.

I don’t know why Mom still comes to these parties.

We cross into the den and find her sitting on the end of the sofa. She’s chatting quietly with a friend she brought with her this year.

“Hey Mom,” Elle says and she steps ahead of me.

Laura turns towards us and when she smiles widely I’m reminded of the woman who was my nanny and then my step mother for the rest of my life. The woman who made me lunches for school. Who took me shopping for new clothes. Who bandaged my knees and got me a glass of water before bed.

“Elle, darling!” Mom extends her arms and wraps Elle in a hug. I feel a distinct pang of sadness that these two, the most important women in my life, don’t know Maggie. And might not get the chance. “And my Austin, come here.”

I cross over to her and she pulls me down for a kiss on the cheek. She gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. When I don’t step back she lets out a little sigh and gives me a hug.

“Your father is short sighted, can’t see past the bottom line.” She whispers into my ear.

“Yeah, umm.” I say as I struggle to figure out how she would know about what happened at the board meeting.

“Is it family picture time?” She asks brightly. Elle rolls her eyes and I search the bottom of my empty glass for more. Finding none, I set it on a side table and then hold out both elbows to take them each by the arm.

"I know it's not New Year’s but do you have any resolutions for next year?" Mom asks us.

"Ugh, Mom.” Elle chastises. “Can you not be your usual upbeat self right now? We’re on the death march to take a photo with the man who is a glorified sperm donor.”

“Eloise Elizabeth,” Mom dishes right back. “I’ll be the first to admit he is not the traditional midwestern dad but you’ve done just fine and he loves you in his own way. Answer my question about resolutions and then we can gossip about his new girlfriend.”

“Deal. Okay, so for next year, I dunno. I'm loving my work at the studio but I also feel like there is more I can do. Or figuring out how to open up the classes to more people. We have such a bougie clientele."

"Hey, I'm not bougie!" I protest as we make our way into the entrance hall where Dad stations himself for most of the night. He stays here so he can greet everyone who comes in and watch to see who leaves early. Plus, I think he likes that his voice echoes off all the marble.

"You're right, you're the least bougie billionaire I know." Elle says with a chuckle.

"I'm not a billionaire, yet," I tell her but she levels me with a look that says I'm pointing out a useless technicality.

“Like I was saying,” Elle starts with an eye roll and an exhale. “I’ve been thinking of ways to make people happy. Like your friend who came in for puppy yoga, she looked so stressed when she walked in but when she left she was relaxed and I even saw her smile.”

I remember that smile.

And I remember the car ride to her place.

And the desperate feeling that compelled me out of the car and to her door.

“Is there a girl in your life?” Mom asks me, hopeful.

“Eh, not really.”

“He had two.” Elle says like she’s tattling.

“Austin Thorne! I’ve raised you better.”

“No, it’s not like that, and it wasn’t really two people.”

Both women look at me for more information as we stand in the receiving line that snakes around the hall. Waiters pass by with hors d'oeuvres and more circulate with champagne. At least we'll be well fed while we wait.

And maybe I can use eating as a diversion from this line of questioning.

“But, you were seeing someone before the election, right?” Elle asks before popping a stuffed mushroom in her mouth. She immediately reaches out to snatch a crab cake off the next tray.

“Yeah, I was. Sort of.”

“Explain,” Mom demands quietly. It’s her mom voice and I don’t stand a chance. Felix knows everything, I should let the two most important women in my life in on the secret.

“I enrolled in the SMS Connect program over the summer.”

“Austin, that’s wonderful,” Mom coos.

“Yeah, I really enjoyed texting with her, it felt significant.”

“She’s the one you tried to meet?” Elle asks, suddenly way more interested in my failed love story than she was a minute ago.

“You two met?” Mom asks excitedly.

“We met.” I say flatly.

“What did you do?” Elle asks.

“Nothing!” I defend. Really, all I did was start fucking her in real life a few weeks before, make her work life a living hell, and not tell her that I was also DCFox. So, maybe not nothing. “It just didn’t work out.”

Mom gives my arm a gentle squeeze.

"Well," Elle starts, "since you still won't explain exactly what happened I'll just say this; it's Christmas and people are a lot softer around the holidays so maybe you should reach out to her and see if she's willing to talk to you again. Like Love, Actually teaches us; at Christmas you tell the truth. Try it. With yourself and the girl."

“That’s right, as I always say, ‘honesty is the best policy,’” she smiles at us.

“Except in politics.” We finish together.

I chuckle and give them each a kiss on the cheek.

As we inch forward through the line, all I can think about is Maggie and what I should do next.

All I have to do is write a note to her.

Is it really that simple?

◆◆◆

Several hours, and several drinks, later I'm lying in my bed staring at the ceiling. I slide my glasses off and rub at the bridge of my nose before sliding them back into place and sitting up.

In one swift move I swipe the SMS Connect phone off my night table, stand up, and start to type out my message .

DCFox: My friend, Merry Christmas, or Holidays, or whatever you might celebrate this time of year. I have to admit I don't feel much like celebrating. The reason is simple. I can’t begin to feel excited about anything after losing your companionship.

I'm sorry. I'll start there. It was never my intention to hurt you or for you to be put in a position you weren't prepared for.

If you get this message and ignore it, I'll understand.

But if you read this and feel the least bit of empathy for me and want to start talking again, know that I'll be a faithful correspondent.

You're still the best woman I've ever had the pleasure to know and I hope that I have the chance to know you even better.

I hit send and flop down on my bed. It would be pathetic to just sit here holding it and waiting to see if she responds. It's almost 2:00 am so there's no chance she's up now anyway.

I set it next to my cell phone and climb under the covers. I don't expect to sleep but I need to try.