Nepotism

Part I

As I climbed the subway steps at 8th and Market Streets my phone rang. It took a few minutes for me to get service. By the time I was halfway at 8th and Chestnut Streets, my service was back at 100%. My phone beeped. The caller had left a message.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to retrieve the message. People rushing to work walked around me, complaining. A man walked into me and didn’t say anything.

“Well dag! It’s not like you didn’t see me!” I yelled at him!

“Get out the way! People are trying to get to work!” The man yelled back.

“Ugh! I swear! Philadelphia has some of the rudest people I’ve ever met in my life!” I said out loud as two thirty-something African-American women approached me. They heard my remark and rolled their eyes at me, whispered amongst themselves, then broke out laughing as they move along down the sidewalk. They glanced back at me one last time.

Since I didn’t have time to listen to the message, I glanced at the number quickly. Area code 617? Where’s that? That number stuck in my head as I turned left onto Chestnut Street and walked three blocks.

I work at 5th and Chestnut Streets in the Lambert Towers Building on the tenth floor. I stopped at Tabor’s, the lobby restaurant, and purchased a medium-hot tea with lemon, no sugar, and an egg and sausage croissant for breakfast. I usually make breakfast and bring it with me. I decided to treat myself today. It’s good for the soul.

The elevator is crowded this morning. I’m wedged in the middle near the back standing next to a woman whose wet hair smells like a dog and a fat guy who I believe is the owner of the silent fart cloud that’s hovering above our heads. I held my breath. The woman eventually got off on the sixth floor and the fart guy got off on the eighth floor.

Finally, at my desk, I placed my knapsack, purse, and food down on my desk haphazardly, pulled my chair out, and sat down with a thump. I reached in my jacket pocket and took out my phone, listened to the brief message.

“Cousin! What’s up! When you get this message call me. Love you.”

It couldn’t be! I hadn’t heard from Keating in more than a year. The last time I saw him was in November 2011 when Aunt Camilla died. Here it is now May 2013.

I put my things away, booted up my computer, and ate my cold sandwich in the meantime. I would call Keating in a few minutes. If I don’t start my day with my priorities set, it won’t go right.

Some of my friends say I’m OCD. They’re right, to a degree. I’m not totally obsessive-compulsive. But, I do like order in my life. I like to set goals and take little steps to accomplish them. I get that from my father who was in the Air Force for fifteen years.

It’s about twenty folders stacked high in my bin. They weren’t there last Friday evening when I left. Somebody worked overtime on a Friday night putting in a few hours before the weekend.

I sort and prioritize the folders. Once I did that, I pull up my spreadsheet. I’ll review the files, make notations, and pass the file on to the next stage of the strategic planning process or reroute it to the original person if something is missing or incomplete. 

My phone buzzes. I set it to vibrate before I put it away. I pull out my bottom drawer, reach into my purse, and pull out the phone.

“Hello. Dude! Wassup? I was going to call you back. I swear. You know how Monday mornings are when you first get to work.”

“What’s going on Duncan? How are you? I know you were going to call me back. How are things with you?”

“I’m good. My boring life hasn’t changed since I last saw you.”

“What happened to that guy you were seeing? Milton . . . You know that guy wasn’t for you. Milton? You had to date a guy named Milton?“

“He was a nice guy. Until I discovered that he liked to take things that don’t belong to him. You’re right, Milton is a horrible name.” I break out in laughter and so does Keating.

 “I need a favor, Duncan. Do you think you can help me?”

“Wow. This sounds serious. I’ll try if I can.”

“I was laid off a month ago. My company is shifting how they do business. They’re laying off a lot of people. If they can’t find a place for you within the company, they give you a severance package and it’s bye-bye job.”

“That’s awful. I would die if I lost my job!”

“My severance is gone. I had to use it to pay up on my rent and my car note. In two days I’m going to be on the street. Finding another job right away is a chore. It takes more than three weeks for unemployment to kick-in.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to move back to Philly. Six years in Boston is enough for me. At least I have family that I can lean on, I hope, until I can get back on my feet. I have a few dollars. I don’t mind pitching in for food. How Is Aunt Adelle doing?”

“Mom is fine. Other than arthritis in her knees, she’s lively and feisty as ever.”

Keating laughs. “I can’t wait to see her.”

“When are you planning on coming home?”

“I’m leaving today. My car is packed and I’m ready to hit the road. I sold my furniture to have a few dollars in my pocket. What do you think? Can I bunk with you for a few weeks until my unemployment at least starts?”

I pause for a few seconds. This would certainly disrupt my life; my routine. I’ve been living on my own for so long, I don’t know how it feels to share a place with someone else at this stage of my life.

Before I could answer, Keating said, “I understand if you say no. I know this is sudden. I’ll call Nash or Maynard.”

“Oh no, don’t do that. You and your brothers have never gotten along. You know Nash’s wife won’t last in the same house with the two of you grown men fighting over trivial stuff. She doesn’t deserve that. Maynard has fallen on hard times. Or, have you heard? Marlowe caught him cheating and left him. Took the boys and nearly everything he worked for. He’s slowly getting himself back together. I saw him last week at a restaurant in King of Prussia.”

“No, I didn’t know that about Maynard. We rarely talk. You’re right, I won’t last under the same roof with Nash for a day.”

“It’s official then. You can come and stay with me in my cramped one-bedroom Chestnut Hill apartment.”

Part II

I’m three months older than Keating. He swears he’s my big brother. We grew up together in the Mt. Airy section of Philadelphia. He lived on Mansfield Avenue and I lived on Beverly Road. Our mothers were sisters and they were very close. Naturally, we followed in their footsteps. We were always at each other’s houses.

           His brother Nash is two years older than us and his brother Maynard is four years older than us. My twin sisters Leola and Leonia are the same age as Maynard. That’s another reason Keating and I hung together all the time; the age differences between us and our siblings dictated that we travel in different social circles.

We had friends all through elementary, middle and high school. But, we were like two peas in a pod. When one got in trouble the other did too. We were smart though. When we graduated from Martin Luther King High School, my class ranking out of three hundred was number nine, and Keating was number ten.

           He told me on the day he left for the Marines that he was going to San Diego for boot camp. I was floored! I never knew he signed up to go into the military. We never kept secrets from each other.

We both agreed that we would go to college together in Virginia. He was going to major in Mathematics and return to Philly to teach high school math. I was going to major in business administration and one day work in city hall in Center City Philadelphia as a City Administrator.

           At eighteen years-old, in 2002, I lost my best friend to the world. Things haven’t been the same since. Keating and I kept in touch all the time at first. But, as the years flew by, he was stationed in Japan for two years, then in Hawaii for three. When he was discharged, he ended up in Boston. He found a job there and he’s been there ever since. 

Part III

Keating came to live with me temporarily in May. It’s now the end of September. I helped him with his resume and cover letter. I was able to share it with my boss, Madison Hurley and other people within Fergus Business Consulting, LLC. He was eventually hired in mid-June to work in my department, but in a separate unit, as an entry level strategic planner.

           Things were going well in my home and on my job the first three months Keating moved in. Then I started to notice little things. He would stay out late and come in at one and two in the morning during the week. He was always late for work. His co-workers complained about him not completing the simplest task. Someone had to complete his work in order to keep the team on schedule to meet the project deadlines.

At home, he didn’t clean up behind himself, he left the kitchen and bathroom dirty and my living room looking like a pigsty. Each time I made up my mind to talk to him, he never had time to sit and talk with me. He even avoided me at work.

 Thursday, October 3, Keating left work early with Mr. Hurley. When I asked around, no one knew why they had left or where they were going. According to Mr. Hurley’s executive assistant, there were no meetings on his calendar.

That same day, after lunch, I stopped by to speak with Keating’s supervisor privately, on the pretense that I was concerned for him. She neglected to provide any suitable answers to my questions. In her rigid reply and guarded behavior, she kindly informed me that she couldn’t reveal an employee’s private information. She gave no indication that she knows Keating and I are family. In fact, no one in the company knows that we’re related, to my knowledge.

           That night, once again, Keating came home late. When I heard the door open and close, I peeped over at the clock on my nightstand. The red numbers said 2:15 am.

           To my surprise, when I wake up, he’s already up preparing for work. My anger wouldn’t allow me to address him this morning. If I did, I know I would ruin my whole day. Once again, I let him off the hook.

           When I walk through the living room at 7:35 ready to leave, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The living room looks livable again. Looking straight ahead, I can see into the kitchen. It’s also clean.

           “Good morning to you too cousin,” Keating says as he walk up behind me, fully dressed.

           I eye him suspiciously. Something’s going on. I can feel it in my gut. I keep calm. “Good morning to you stranger. I was on my way to work. I’ll see you there?”

           “I’ll ride the subway with you. I don’t feel like driving this morning. I need to stop giving Philly all my money for parking anyway. Parking in Center City is higher here than in Boston.” He grins at me sheepishly. 

           “Cool let me make sure everything is off, and I’ll lock up,” is my reply.

           On the way to work, our conversation is reserved. I read my James Patterson book while he perused a sports magazine he pulled from his knapsack.

           We part ways when we enter the Lambert Towers Building. He stops at Tabor and I continue to the elevator. He offers to purchase breakfast for me, but I decline. I’m not hungry. Besides, my stomach is doing somersaults. I didn’t see Keating all morning after that.

Around 10 am I take a break and go to the ladies room. I enter the handicap stall, the last bathroom of seven. I like using this stall because it’s spacious and comfortable.

Five minutes later, two women enter the bathroom. They don’t know that I’m in the last stall, so they talk freely.

“Who does Keating think he is? Where did he come from anyway? He’s been here less than six months and he’s now a manager!” The woman’s anger is undeniable.

The other woman says, “It’s rumored that he had an interview with Mr. Hurley and the Director of Manufacturing yesterday when they disappeared. I can’t believe he’s going to head up the strategic team for Boots Baby Products out of Nashville.”

           “I hate those staff meetings.”

           “I do too. I wish leadership would find some other way to announce staffing achievements and promotions. Springing things on us in a staff meeting is not the best way to go about it.”

           The women wash their hands and leave the bathroom, even though they didn’t use the facilities.

           By now I’m fuming. I applied for that job. Keating knows absolutely nothing about strategic planning. I’ve worked on projects for Boots Baby Products for over a year. Plus, he doesn’t have a degree. Even though I didn’t get it, he shouldn’t have it either.

I fix my clothes before leaving the stall. I wash my hands, exit the bathroom and march over to Keating’s cubicle on the other side of the floor.

I stand directly in his path so he can’t leave. He’s on the phone, looks up at me and smiles.

“By the look on your face, something tells me that you heard the news.”

My hands on my hips, I address him with fire in my eyes. “You pompous, insensitive, selfish jerk! How could you? You know I applied for that job! You have absolutely no strategic planning experience! What did you do Keating? Tell me! Now!”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re my cousin! Not my mother. You forget that I was in the military. You have no idea what type of experience I have!”

“When I agreed to allow you to live with me, we set goals. You were supposed to be out of my place within six months. You were going to start looking for an apartment soon as you found a job! Instead, you used me every chance you got. Used me and took advantage of me! I’m done with you! Pack your bags and get out of my house tonight! If not, you’re going to find your things in the hall way.”

“Your goals are not my goals, Duncan.”

“That’s all you have to say? After all I’ve done for you?”

“Duncan. You’re causing a scene,” Keating said in a calm voice.

I stop talking as I realize what he said. I look around and people are staring at me, mumbling to themselves.

Embarrassed, I storm away. I’m literally sick to my stomach. Back at my desk, I retrieve my knapsack and purse from my desk drawer and leave work. I’ll call human resources on my way home. I have two weeks sick time. Using a day shouldn’t harm me. I need time to think.