78- Back to the office

Both men turn to each other and it is then when I notice the tattooed legs of a frog peeking out from the edge of the bald man’s short sleeve shirt. “You were a Navy Seal?” I ask.
His attention turns to me. “Yes I was. Retired about seven years ago. You?”
“No, my father. At some point, I was to go down that path but I sat down to watch a BUDS documentary one evening and almost shit my pants.”
His laugh resounds across the room. “I went through it,” he says, “and I shit my pants. That fucking training. You know I had to go through it twice.”

“Twice? Why?”
“I almost died the first time. I was negative buoyant as hell and during one of the drown proofing classes, I don’t know if you know what those are about.”
“Of course. They tie your hands and feet and tell you to find a way to survive in the water, right?”
“Basically,” he says. “Well, I drowned. They sent me to the hospital afterwards. I would have returned to the training and I wanted to. I kept arguing with them that I didn’t strike that fucking courtyard bell, so they couldn’t kick me out but turns out they could, since I had missed several weeks already. What a hell of an experience.”
“Sure sounds like it. My father always told me his stories from that time, especially during his hell week. He never stopped talking about one of his instructors especially-Morty? Do you know him?”
“Fuck me,” he almost jumps out of his chair. “That bastard. He passed away last summer. I attended his funeral and although I hated his damn guts, I have to admit that he was one of the best goddamn instructors we had. Tough as a nail, but he was good people.”
“My dad said the same things.”
“What class did your father graduate from? I was in 235.” “Oh, much earlier than yours,” I reply. “I think 198?”
“Ah. Wait a minute isn’t that Marcus’s and Tyler’s class? What team was he assigned to?” I already know where he is going with this. “Seal Team 5.”
“Fuck,” the man curses.
The reminder of the attack that killed off the members in that team and about a dozen more pilots and rangers except my father, darkens the mood of the room.
“Your father is Gary Abbott?” “He is.”
“Wow,” he says. “I should have made the connection. You do look like him. What a pleasure it is to meet you man.” He holds out his hand again.
I accept the firm handshake. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
“How’s the old frogman doing?” he asks. “I haven’t laid eyes on him in at least a dozen years.” “He is doing all right,” I reply. “Saw him yesterday.”

“Well, next time you see him, let him know that the entire brotherhood misses him. He’s still a living legend amongst the rest of us but after that incident, he sort of checked out.”
I smile at the compliment, but it makes my heart ache at how different this testimony is to the broken, rampant man I just saw the previous day. “I will,” I reply.
Both men got ready to take their leave.
“After that trip down memory lane, I guess our collaboration is established.” His partner laughs and the meeting is concluded.
Both clients go their way.
Blair and I on the other hand, ride silently back to my top floor office.


“Did you know he was a Navy Seal before you came over?” I ask. We are on the elevator together and although, I would normally avoid speaking to him in such a confined space, I can’t help it
since I’m aware that once we arrive back at the office, we will both be distanced again.
He turns eyes to me that seem quite troubled, so I’m not surprised when it takes him a few more seconds to respond.
“No,” he says. “I did not. But I did know though that he was in the army. It’s on his bio page on their company’s website.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling slightly inadequate. “I found that interesting when I saw it and thought that perhaps I could bring it up but I don’t know enough about the army to hold a decent conversation. I didn’t want to say anything foolish or insensitive.”
“Why would you want to bring up the military?” he asks.
The elevator dings its arrival on our floor. “My father. He was ex-military too, a Navy Seal too I believe.”
“Was?”
“Yeah,” I respond as we begin to exit the elevator. “He passed away a long time ago while on active duty.”
“My condolences,” he says softly
I shake my head in response and we continue walking side by side in silence.
Soon, we arrive back at our office and I head over to my desk. I want to thank him for his help and for not completely taking over during the meeting, but my mind and mouth refuse to cooperate, so I just watch as he returns to his office without a word.

We still have a conversation to tackle which had been interrupted by Allen, and I don’t know if and when we will get to it. A few hours ago, the possibility had been huge that I would no longer be working here, but now and after successfully signing my first clients and with him supporting me with the process, I don’t think that things will be that cut throat. But then again, this is Grady Abbott‒and correctly predicting his actions or trying to decipher his intentions‒is as pointless as trying to make a cat bark. So I remain at my desk and soak in the elation of signing my first clients. Then I get to work on collaborating with the available account managers.
About half an hour past closing time however, the door to his office swings open and it’s so unexpected that I don’t even acknowledge it until I feel the prompt tension in the pit of my stomach at his presence.
I lift my head from my screen to see him watching me. “Are you going to stay longer?” he asks.
“Yes, I will.”
“What about dinner?” he asks. “You don’t want to celebrate signing your first clients?” I go still at his question. “Yeah I do... I mean I will.”
“Let’s go for dinner then,” he says. “Or do you have plans to celebrate with someone else?”
Again, I stare dumbfounded at him and then it clicks as to what he is asking. I rise to my feet. “I don’t. I’ll be right out.”
He continues on his way.
I’m left alone to scramble for my things. When I later arrive at the front of the office building, I see his car running and automatically start to head to the back seat. But then the light comes on and I stop to see that he is the one in the driver’s seat instead of Andrew.
“Sit up front,” he says and I nod in response.