Free Fearless by Rafael Yglesias

The immediate project was worth a lot of money—as much as their architectural firm had earned over the past two years—for what would probably be six months’ work. And there was also the promise of more. Nutty Nick stores planned similar expansions into Philadelphia, Washington, Atlanta, and Miami. If Mr. Nutty Nick approved, it was possible that their design might become the basic model, which meant money coming in for years and years with a minimum of additional effort.
    As always, under pressure, Jeff didn’t contribute to the work. He chose instead to fight bitterly with his wife in the evenings and to spend his day at the office placing make-up phone calls. After a week of that he caught a cold and had to go home early to prevent it from becoming much worse. When Jeff finally did put time in, he made elementary errors which required redrafting, no matter what one thought of the concept. In short, by the time Jeff had overcome all his difficulties and announced he was ready to “pull an all-nighter” so they could meet Nutty Nick’s deadline, Max was finished with a complete plan.
    “No need,” Max said and showed him blueprints with Jeff’s name listed as co-designer.
    Jeff was generous in his praise of Max’s work and he had a suggestion about inventory storage that, although minor, was neat, impressive, and even inexpensive. Jeff seemed unembarrassed to have contributed so little. Perhaps that was because, as Jeff never tired of reminding Max, his socializing had gotten them this opportunity in the first place. A year ago, at his country club on Long Island, Jeff met Nutty Nick’s accountant and got the assignment to renovate a Nutty Nick branch in Great Neck. Max’s work on that minor job so impressed the boss in LA that they were given this chance.
    But it was my work on the store in Great Neck, Max said to the Sheraton mirror. You spent that whole month arguing with your wife.
    “You want us to get turned down, is that it? You want to fail? That why you’re dressing this way?” Jeff had taunted him as they entered Newark airport.
    “He’s hiring architects, not salesmen. These nouveau riche businessmen want to think they’ve hired an eccentric, an artist. That makes them a patron. Suddenly he’s not Nutty Nick interviewing second-rate architects, he’s David Rockefeller hiring I. M. Pei.”
    Jeff had blinked, rolling the lids down over his bulging eyes, as if what Max had said was too ugly to see. He said mildly: “We’re not second-rate.”
    Max was alone in the room once this memory stopped its replay. More alone than he had been before. He was absent Jeff and also absent the desire to finish their business.
    He sat down and considered how he felt.
    He felt pursued.
    So he ran. He left the room less than an hour after renting it.
    The crash’s activity had spilled into the Sheraton’s lobby. A group of men who had helped in the rescue efforts stood around a fake stone fireplace telling a few of the hotel staff what they had done and the gruesome sights they had seen.
    Max waited at the front desk behind a television crew who were loaded with equipment. A reporter, or at least me only one in a suit, told the desk clerk they were from ABC.
    “National news?” the clerk said with a hush in his voice.
    But the clerk got no answer since the network reporter, overhearing the rescuers’ talk of the crash, had drifted in their direction.
    “I need to rent a car,” Max said to the awed and distracted clerk.
    The reporter gestured to his crew to start shooting while he interviewed the rescuers. They answered eagerly. A camera appeared and was pointed at the storytellers.
    “Excuse me,” Max said to the clerk.
    “What?” The clerk had contorted his position behind the desk to put himself in the background of the cameraman’s shot.
    “My car’s going to be in the shop for two days. Where can I rent a car?”
    “The mall,” the clerk said and pointed behind him.
    Max left without