hands rose in a wave, like a swimming stroke, up into the air and then down again, and in unison Duke Blue punctuated the finish.
After pitched emotions subsided to a more down-to-earth level and the aura of spectacle gave way to post meet banter, several senior and junior swimmers exchanged competitive jabs going back to the locker room, Jack not among them.
“You guys won for one reason,” Bob Evans, a junior, said to some seniors, “Jack.”
Dayton, who was next to Evans, cringed at his remark saying sarcastically, “Praise be to Jack.”
His voice smacked of envy and Evans responded, “Dayton, you sound sour. None of us could have held Jack back today. He was just too good.”
Dayton peered at Evans. “Yeah, well I guess I forgot that while I swim in water, he walks on it.”
Jack had joined the others now and heard Dayton’s remark. He raised his head, his jaw firm, and its muscles stiffening into an expression of reluctant consideration for someone whose ego had been bruised.
“Dayton,” he said, trying to console the perturbed junior, “I’m sure next year, you’ll get my record.”
“Oh my God,” Dayton said, “not only do you crush me but you have to be nice about it. You’re both a strong and kind God. Is that right, Jack?”
“Dayton,” Evans said in disgust, “you’re a terrible loser.”
“Stay out of it, Evans. I don’t like being patronized by Jack is all. We all know the truth. There’s no way I’ll get his record next year. Just like there’s no way Jack will get to Wall Street without an MBA. I won’t ever be the swimmer you are, Jack. But I’ll be damned if I don’t get to Wall Street before you. I’m taking a full year of MBA courses next year, did you know that?”
Jack looked at Dayton with a kind of hopeless dismissal, as if to say you just can’t be nice to some people.
“Have you heard from the Street?” Dayton pressed, his lower lip stretched in cynical anticipation of Jack’s response. But Jack continued to ignore him infuriating Dayton into eruption. “When it comes to Wall Street, Conroy, I’ll leave you in the dust.”
Jack turned to Dayton, his eyes full of contempt. His stare froze the tormented junior. Coach Ross interceded, “That’s enough, Phil. Don’t ruin our tradition by thinking only about yourself.”
“Who should I think about, Coach? Jack?” Dayton couldn’t let it go.
“You might,” Coach Ross said. “Jack’s always put the team first and whatever he chooses to do, I know he’ll lead others doing it.”
3
Jack returned to his apartment late that afternoon. He got permission from the landlord to extend his lease for a couple of months. Before going upstairs the landlord gave him his mail, mentioning he’d signed for one of the items. Jack didn’t look at the mail right away but immediately began packing for his upcoming trip to his aunt and uncle’s. He quickly filled a canvass duffel bag then returned to the bureau where he’d set his mail down.
There were a couple of bills, one from the phone company, another from a utility. There was a letter addressed to Recent Graduate from a credit card company offering a new Master Card account. Under the credit card letter was a business sized envelope with a certified mail sticker attached. This was the letter the landlord had signed for. It was upside down in his hands. He felt the envelope as he removed the green sticker, then turned it over to read the return address. The envelope was of fine quality paper, with a texture that made it feel as if it had been minutely stitched together the way a fine piece of cloth might be. It was off-white, with embossed, thick, black typing. The print was elegant and bold and the return address read Sanders Brown. It was the last letter he’d been waiting for from Wall Street.
Jack sat down on the bed to read the letter but shadows in the room made it difficult to read and he chose not to turn on the lamp. So he got up and went to the window in the living room and broke the seal of the envelope by tearing the left corner of it open. He took out what he thought was the only page of the letter, not realizing that when he’d torn the envelope, he’d separated the first from the second page of the letter. He discarded the envelope with the second page still inside.
The first page looked like a complete letter. Jack read carefully:
Dear Mr. Conroy:
Sanders Brown Company has carefully reviewed your letter of interest, college transcripts, and personal references. We are pleased to be able to extend to you an invitation to interview with our firm. We will be conducting interviews during the second two weeks of June. Please contact the undersigned by June 15 to arrange for an interview.
Very Truly Yours, Cliff Sutton
Manager Human Resources
He had ten days to respond. But he was leaving for his uncle’s the next day and wouldn’t be in Claremont Hills until the fifteenth. If he wanted to set up the interview, he should do it first thing in the morning. But he felt reluctant to do so. He’d dragged his feet about sending letters to Wall Street in the first place. Veronica thought she knew why, although Jack had never come right out and said it. That was because, intermittently, he still did want to go to Wall Street. But, lately and increasingly, his feelings about working there, when he admitted them to himself, were negative. He didn’t explore the reasons but that is how he felt. He didn’t want to go. His father had urged him to send letters. His mother and father had expressed disappointment about him not getting his letters out sooner. They wanted him near them.
They would be proud and delighted if he went to Wall Street. It was his dad, also, who’d suggested Jack provide both his school and home address for response, fearing Jack’s delay in contacting firms might result in their responses coming to Duke after he’d already left school. Jack had forgotten about that and since he didn’t see the second page of the letter, didn’t realize a copy had been sent to his home. He never read the following:
CC: Mr. John Conroy, Claremont Hills Estates, Claremont Hills, NJ
All Jack could think now was that he wished the letter had not come. He’d waited most of the semester, thinking secretly: I hope I don’t get an interview. Now that he’d gotten an offer to set up one, he felt sick to his stomach about it.
What he craved was the feeling he’d had that morning after Mr. Bellini had offered him a job. He’d been happy. It was true, at Underwood after the relay he’d wished he was going to Wall Street. But that was to beat Dayton. Dayton had made him feel less enthusiastic about staying in Durham, making him think that by working for Bellini he’d be shirking responsibility. Then, too, Coach Ross’s comment, while it was meant to make him feel confident, further dampened Jack’s excitement about taking the job at the nursery. In his mind, Jack could hear Coach Ross saying: “Whatever he chooses to do, I know he’ll lead others doing it.”
So this letter might have made him feel that he was back on track. Dayton would have to eat crow if Jack beat him to Wall Street by getting a job with Sanders Brown. And Wall Street’s future would be in better hands. These thoughts passed through his mind and momentarily pleased him. So did the ideas his parents would be proud and Coach Ross would be proud. But all of that incidental pleasure dissolved into a sinking feeling when Jack thought about not working at the nursery, about being in New York instead of Durham, about being away from Veronica.
Then
