Chapter 7
They sat at his table in the corner and ordered two more glasses of wine.
“I’m Corey,” she said, and they both laughed.
“I’m aware. I’m Kyle. Kyle Williams.”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Kyle Williams,” she said and held up her glass. When he reached to clink it with his own, she pulled it back. “A completely premature and unnecessary rescue to be sure, but the gesture was appreciated.”
“Your heavily caveated toast is accepted,” he said and lightly touched her glass. The chime sounded pleasing. Her body had finally warmed and she felt loose after the Pappy Van Winkle, the hit in the alley, the previous glass of wine, and the relief of conflict averted—everything hitting her bloodstream in a warm wave. And the cockiness she had summoned in the lobby hadn’t faded. Better yet, she hit the high water mark of confident. Cool. She remembered nights when that happened, when the stars seemed to align somehow. When she felt “on” but in a good way. Fully present, not wanting to be somewhere else. Not overexcited or talking too fast. She was in the pocket, sitting across from a handsome stranger like any other normal person. Only better. He had known who she was without having to tell him, without him crowding her, or trying to carry her off over his shoulder like some meathead.
She looked at his shoulders and realized that last one wouldn’t be so bad. She chastised herself momentarily, but once she conjured that image, she found she couldn’t banish it again.
“Kyle,” she said. “That’s definitely better than Binder Boy.”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s what I was calling you. In my head. Before.”
“I prefer to think of myself as more of a Binder Man.”
“I prefer Kyle.”
“Probably for the best.”
“So what’s in the binder?”
“Work stuff. Boring.”
“Most people think I ‘play’ for a living, but I play music. And music is work. Writing songs, touring, dealing with a less than adoring public,” she trailed off, and they both laughed. “I will admit I might be slightly disconnected with people who have actual jobs outside of the music industry. So tell me, Kyle, what are the jobs people do these days? Soda jerk? Train conductor?”
“Rodeo clown.”
Corey smiled. “So the binder was your training manual.”
Kyle nodded somberly. “There’s a surprising amount of regulations.”
“Seriously. I’m curious.”
“Trust me, it’s not dynamic.”
“I’ll be the judge.”
“Risk assessments.”
Corey made a snoring sound. Kyle threw up his hands, smiling. Corey blurted, “I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist, but the look on your face…” She felt good. She felt endorphins. She felt a touch of adrenalin. She wanted to feel his shoulders.
When they stopped laughing, he explained, “I conduct risk assessments for businesses.”
“For what?”
“All hazards. Fire, flooding, theft, attack…”
“Attack? By what?”
“Bad guys. Sharks. You name it.”
“Sharknados…”
“It’s a legitimate meteorological phenomenon. Don’t worry, we’re pretty far inland.”
“How do you come up with the risk?”
“It’s boring.”
“Stop deflecting! I’m interested…”
He paused, choosing his words. “Basically, it’s a formula. Risk is a factor of threat, vulnerability, and consequence. And threat is a factor of intent and capability.”
She leaned in. “That sounds pretty cool. How’s it work?”
“Have you ever read The Gift of Fear?”
“Nope.”
“It posits that we’re all basically animals with finely tuned instincts to sense danger, but we’ve become so civilized that we ignore those instincts to not appear rude. The author uses a great example of all of the conscious and subconscious calculations women make when walking into a parking garage—”
“Are you literally mansplaining my own life to me right now?”
“Ha! No. God no. Just trying to explain risk as a methodology. Let’s try it another way. I want to win a Grammy.”
“I have one of those,” she said, brushing her nails against her top. It was from The Toddler’s last album, their multiple platinum smash Here Come The Toddlers, but still.
“I know. But now I want one too. In fact, it is my burning desire to get one. I am one hundred percent committed to obtaining a Grammy by any means necessary.”
“Sounds sinister.”
“Good. So what is the threat of me actually getting one?”
“My Mama told me you can be anything you want to be.”
“Maybe so, and even though I am one hundred percent committed, which means I have one hundred percent intent, my voice, sadly, is shit. Zero musical ability means zero capability. Therefore, zero threat of me ever setting foot on stage at the Grammys. Alas, my singing is relegated to the shower.”
She imagined him singing in the shower. Then she forgot about the singing.
“Boring you yet?” he asked.
“No! Um, no.”
“Good, so we’ve established that I have zero chance of ever obtaining a Grammy by lawful, legitimate means, so I’ve decided to steal one.”
Corey leaned in. “Binder Boy has gone full supervillain.”
“Binder Man. But yes.” He leaned in too. “Mustache-twirling, mad scientist, conquer-the-world-with-a-weather-machine supervillain. In fact, the only thing that can power my evil death ray is a Grammy.”
She traced her finger around the lip of her wine glass. “I love a heist. Can I help?”
“Aren’t you worried about the sanctity of the Grammys?”
“I’m not in it for the awards. Let’s steal us some Grammys.”
“So Binder Man and Evil Corey—”
“Whoa, easy with the labels. I’m just a good time heist girl.”
“So Binder Man and Just Corey descend on Grammy Headquarters.”
“From a helicopter?”
“Mm, not a big fan of flying.”
“Any self-respecting heist needs a helicopter.”
“I’ll allow it.”
“Onto a catwalk?”
“Of course. The catwalk is Grammy Headquarters’ greatest vulnerability.”
“Like the Death Star’s thermal exhaust port.”
“I didn’t know rock stars could be nerds too.”
“Again with the labels…”
“So yes, this catwalk is totally unsecured, allowing super villains and gorgeous rock stars to waltz freely in and out of Grammy Headquarters.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?”
Kyle smiled, looked into his glass. “I’m a pragmatic supervillain, not the insane kind. More Lex Luthor than the Joker.”
“The judges will accept gorgeous as a label.”
“So, Binder Man and Gorgeous Corey pose a threat to Grammys everywhere, Grammy HQ has a serious vulnerability, and the consequences of us getting our hands on a Grammy is catastrophic, resulting in world domination and, more importantly, the delegitimizing of righteous Grammy owners everywhere, including, paradoxically, yourself.”
“Wait, what? I’m out.”
“You can’t be out, we’re in the middle of a heist. I even let you talk me onto a helicopter.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. I’m shutting this caper down.”
“Ah, insider threat. Betrayal is common among supervillain team ups. Binder Man already anticipated this very thing. The caper continues.”
“Binder Man is a real prick.”
“Pragmatic.”
“I’ll distract him with my Gorgeous Rock Star looks.”
Kyle smiled. “Any other time that would work. But Binder Man is utterly ruthless and single-minded.”
“Then I’ll just have to kill you.”
“Or,” said Kyle, holding up a finger, “you could hire Paratus Risk Solutions and implement our patented Resilient Infrastructure and Safety Calculator? ‘Why run the risk when you can Run the RISC.’”
“I see what you did there.” She raised her glass. “So you work for Paratus Risk Solutions?”
“Sort of. I own it. Well, half of it.”
“Wow. I didn’t realize I was having drinks with a CEO.”
“It’s not as impressive as it sounds. It’s me and one other guy. We tour the country providing risk assessments, but it’s a lot of travel and very time consuming. And the RISC isn’t actually complete yet, but if we could ever find the time to finish it, it could be a game changer.”
“Congratulations.”
Kyle shook his head. It was a superstitious gesture. “Premature.”
“Pregratulations?”
“I’ll take it.”
“So, what was the risk of you getting the shit kicked out of you by those two fucksticks?”
“It was a possibility, but not a probability. I don’t think they were really spoiling for a fight.”
“But they could’ve thrown down?”
“Sure. You can’t mitigate all risks down to zero. Where would the fun in that be?”
“Then what?”
“Then I guess I would’ve been a man in his forties attempting a fist fight in a cold Kansas parking lot. Frankly, I can’t think of anything sadder.”
“I don’t know. You look pretty fit. Binder Man could’ve taken them.”
Kyle smirked. “Maybe.”
“Well, thank you for running the risk.” She put her chin in her hand and gave an exaggerated flutter of her eyelids. “However will I repay you?”
“You already have.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
Kyle looked into his glass.
Oh no, thought Corey. Please don’t say the poster.
“Decelerate,” he said.
She leaned forward. “How’s that?”
“I went to the Coast Guard Academy. It’s a military college in Connecticut. You graduate with a bachelor’s degree and a commission as an officer in the Coast Guard. Great school, but tough. Really tough. The first year, Swab Year, they strip you of everything. No civilian clothes, no personnel effects, no music.”
“No music?” And certainly no posters, she thought.
He shook his head. “I’m old enough to have had a Discman, but they were contraband until sophomore year. Like I said, great school, but very strict.”
“Sounds like prison.”
“Not quite, but when I was reunited with my beloved Discman, the Toddlers were huge. And then Damsel Underdressed blew up. I figure I got far more out of that CD than the eighteen dollars I spent on it at the time. Every night, for the better part of a year, I fell asleep to Decelerate in my headphones. The outro would just, I don’t know, put me in a trance. To this day, I still don’t know how many times you actually sing, ‘Uh oh, oh no’ because I never wanted to count it.”
He met her eye. “I just got lost in it, like a…”
Flow state, she thought.
“…a lullaby.”
They stared at each other. Corey felt as if she couldn’t breathe, her heart pounding in her chest like a bass drum. She fought to keep her face steady.
“Kyle?” she asked, her voice suddenly thick.
“Yes?”
“What’s the risk of you taking me to bed right now?”