Page 37 of Pride and Protest
“Oh no, not the napkin Five-O.” Liza pulled the cloth down. “I definitely can’t make bail.” She still placed it on the table like some kind of napkin heathen.
Liza squinted. “Speaking of bail, why did you sponsor my program?” Her question was direct. Her eye contact was direct. He wouldn’t bullshit this question.
“David came up with the idea of a care hotline for the community to voice its concerns, and we needed to publicize it. I thought I could discredit you and help us by forcing you to tell the community about it.” Dorsey didn’t flinch under her stare.
“But you miscalculated.” She smiled. “People like you throw money at a problem and expect it to right itself. But at the heartof that method is a lack of vision. Money can’t go anywhere without vision.” She took a liberal gulp of his whiskey. “So instead of muting me, you’ve amplified my message.” She looked pleased with herself, and pointed to the whiskey, “I like this better.”
“Believe it or not, I’m notagainstyour message. I’m against your method. It’sallvision, all luck, all movement. It’s a bull with no cock.”
“Help me navigate your masculinist analogy. Byno cock, you mean without...” Liza raised her brow.
Dorsey met her eyes. “Power.” He played with the mug in his hand. “Force. Weight.” He finished her smoky cocktail and ordered her another whiskey and himself another Mexican Sunseta fuego. “Let me give you an example.Iwas given this job with no real qualifications or desire to lead the company.” He settled into his chair. Liza took long looks at him, and the color rose high on his cheeks. He could get used to her attention.
“Sounds like falling up.”
“I know to you that makes me sound like even more of an asshole, but I’ve never seen myself as CEO of anything. After I joined the Peace Corps, I saw firsthand that clumsy development organizations did very little. Idealism does not work.” The waitstaff returned with their drinks but placed the Mexican Sunset in front of Liza and the whiskey neat in front of Dorsey. Honest mistake. When Dorsey moved to switch them, Liza took a small sip of hers, then slid the drink over. He followed suit and took a sip of the whiskey and placed it in front of her. It felt like a kind of truth ritual. The warmth in his chest was definitely just the whiskey.
“You know what works?” he continued. “Money. Cold hard cash changes circumstances—nothing else. My mother’s foundation is tied to the strength of Pemberley. I would hate to see thatwork ruined. It helped me, my brother, and my sister. It can help a thousand more like us if I keep my eye on the prize. Without money, vision is impossible. Thus, my vision haspowerbehind it.”
“Wow, I got a ‘thus’ out of you. Well, my vision isn’t a bull. It’s... just a nice cow, but it still has power. It’s got a womb and udders.” Dorsey nearly spit out his drink. “Don’t you dare laugh! I mean it. I want to build a coalition andcreatesomething together with the community—tonurtureideas, create a self-sustaining model. Think about how sustainableyourmodel is. How long will the board pay for the WCO’sentireoperation? A cow can provide milk toall thecalves she births. At some point you will have to build and create.”
Dorsey nodded. She was half-right, he allowed. He had been thinking of how to make WCO independent from Pemberley Development. “I take your point.”
“Thusly, you will pack your spaceship back to Philly,” Liza added.
Dorsey could not keep the corners of his mouth down all night. A surge of boldness coursed through him. “I want to send you something,” he said, holding up his phone.
“Send it.” Liza shrugged.
“Um... on your phone.” Dorsey’s face burned.
Smooth, Datu. Real smooth.
“Oh.” Liza fumbled with her phone. It slipped out of her hand like a slippery bar of soap and landed neatly near his drink. Sounding somehow winded, she recited her number in small, halting syllables.
He sent her the meme of them at Netherfield Court. They had both probably seen it a thousand times, but the scene morphed into the fight scene with Aaliyah and Jet Li, and when Liza unfurled her napkin, the print readRomeo Must Die. Dorseywas curious about how she had taken the viral moment and wanted to ease into conversation with her about it.
“Oh my god, people have so much time on their hands! This is good.” Liza laughed, a big, gorgeous sound that bubbled up inside him as well.
“It’s a deep fake, but the best one I’ve seen,” Dorsey said. They relaxed into a comfortable conversation about being the center of a meme. He told her how it changed people’s perception of him at the company. He wasn’t overthinking their conversation. Was she making this easy, or was he trying harder? He didn’t feel himself searching for the exits or checking the time. He had even made her laugh.
The server came to settle their check, and Liza rubbed her palms together.
“I propose to you, Dorsey, a Hotel Washington Treaty. I was wrong about this place.” Liza smiled through her admission. “It is, in fact, a cool place to have drinks. This was a good idea. Seeing each other as people. So I decree on this day... Shit.” Her eyes shot to him.
“What?”
“Today’s your birthday,” she said, half-astonished.
“Oh!” He pretended to check his phone. “I guess it is.” His face must be on fire right now.How did she remember?
“Happy thirty-one?” she ventured.
“-Ish,” he said. “Do you have to get home?”
Stop torturing the girl and let her go.
“I don’t have a curfew, if that’s what you’re asking.”
