Monkey Business (25 page)

Sunday, February 29, 7:30 p.m.

S
core is four nothing, us. I'm tired, but I gotta keep going. I can't remember the last time I slept. When is my superstrength going to kick in? And why is a fucking asshole second-year blocking me? Have to get past him. Move. Sweat. Can't get it, shoot, block, miss, fuck.

Crack.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Ow.

I try to shake out my hand, but it hurts too much.

Ow.

My eyes sting, my hand kills. This sucks. There is no time for this.

“What's wrong, Russ?” Nick asks, out of breath.

The middle finger on my right hand looks abnormally bloated, and ferociously angry. Ow. “I think it's broken.”

“You're kidding.”

“I don't think so.” Ow. Maybe if I just shake it out—ow.

“I think you need to go to the health center, dude.”

 

Three hours later, I'm back at the Zoo, and my finger is wrapped in a metal plate. I am not happy. The nurse told me that MBA men have the highest broken-bone ratio of any group of students at the university. Apparently we all think we're eighteen. This week she saw one broken leg, two pulled-out backs and one sprained neck.

“Where were you?” Kimmy asks when I knock on her door. “I thought you wanted to work on our Corporate Strategy assignment.”

I show her my hand. “I had a run-in with a basketball.”

“Looks like the basketball won.”

“Funny. It's sprained.”

“I really wanted to go over the assignment, Russ. I'm done, but I wanted to check it against yours, in case.”

Hello? My hand?
“Well, excuse me,”
I say, annoyed.

She locks her door behind her. “We have to meet the group now about the female condom project. Sorry about your hand,” she says, almost as an afterthought, then leans over to gently kiss it.

“I'm okay,” I say, suddenly trying to be the tough guy. I guess I shouldn't tell her I haven't even read the Corporate Strategy assignment yet.

Nick and Lauren are waiting for us in Jamie's room. “How are you feeling, dude?” Nick asks.

I shrug. Kimmy and I sit on the floor, our backs against the wall.

Jamie claps his hands together. “All right children, let's get to work. I e-mailed each of you my part last night. Did anyone read it?”

“I did,” Kimmy says. The rest of us nod, but we're looking at the floor.

“Did any of you finish your parts?” Jamie asks.

Nick and Kimmy simultaneously say, “I did.”

I'm staring at a very interesting crack in the paint on the wall.

“Guys, we have to finish this. I wrote the intro, but I can't write the conclusion until you all give me your sections. It always helps when the intro and conclusion have something to do with the rest of the paper. And we have to practice. We're presenting it as well as handing it in. Has anyone thought about props?”

When did he become so psycho? “Jamie, man, you have to chill,” I say. “The paper isn't due until Wednesday.” I have other pressing priorities. Clubs, Kimmy, my finger. Another assignment due tomorrow. I thought breaking up with Sharon would free up some time, but I've been busier than ever these past two weeks.

Gotta keep moving, as they say. You have time to think when you stay still.

“I have a surprise,” Kimmy says. “I spoke to the retailer, and she sent me a box of freebies to give out to the class.”

Freebies? We would need them, but we're not using condoms anymore since she's on the pill.

We make plans to work during all our free time tomorrow and on Tuesday. We break up at around eleven.

“Are you coming to bed?” Kimmy asks, yawning.

“I can't. I have to finish Strategy.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

She sighs. “Why don't you use my work to fill in anything you're missing? And let me know if I've forgotten anything major.”

Sounds good to me.

I go to my room, and start copying: “The all-stock purchase of Time Warner (TW) by America Online (AOL) was perhaps the ultimate display of Internet-era exuberance. The merger represented a supposed model for the future, where an endless stable of content was delivered anywhere at any time through seamless networks that integrated with effortless hardware.”

When did Kimmy become so articulate? Who knew? I'm impressed. And aroused.

I flip my chin between her paper and my keyboard, typing what I see. I change a few words to make it sound like mine. Forty minutes later, the words start to swim in front of my eyes.

Telephone rings. “Time for bed?” Kimmy purrs.

“Definitely,” I say, and hit the print key.

Wednesday, March 3, 10:45 a.m.

“O
ur initial product rollout for the women's condom will target areas that fall within the triangular shape formed by Boston, Miami and Chicago,” Jamie says, as the PowerPoint slide behind him illuminates a gigantic triangle. “A strategy we refer to as the golden triangle.”

Everyone in the class snickers. He is too much. I can't stop laughing. How can someone make a Marketing presentation so funny? I'm not the only person howling, either. It feels like Comedy Central in here. And the place is packed. I bet everyone came just to hear him present. I wonder if he's ever thought about show business.

“People,” he says, “get your mind out of the gutter. The product packaging is gold.”

I feel a pang of jealousy when all five in his work group start laughing. I wish I were in that group. My group did a presentation on the soda industry, and they've been doing condoms every night. Where's the justice?

When the group finishes, they hand out freebies. Cool. It's like getting a loot bag after a party, except with this stuff in
hand, the party comes later. Hopefully I'll be able to use this over spring break when we finally have sex.

 

At the end of the day, I stop at the Internet terminals to check my e-mail. One from Brad, asking me if I want to see the Broadway play
Avenue Q
during March break. He's gotten really into e-mails and phone calls lately. Almost obsessively. It's almost suffocating. Oh, well. At least he's booked my break with dinner reservations and concerts. And he's taking off two days so we can spend some time during the day together.

Library time. I knock on Jamie's door to collect him. No answer. Oh, well. I trudge through the snow on my own.

I find him at our regular spot on the fourth floor. “I'm so happy you're here,” I say, sitting on the chair next to his.

“I'm happy
you're
here,” he says. “It's time for a walk.”

“But I just arrived!”

“All the more reason to take a break. Hey, Jason,” he says to the guy sitting at the table. “Will you watch our laptops?” He extends his arm to me, and we stroll through the library, waving to the people we know. His short arm hairs tickle my skin. We're both cold and goose-bumpy. In the hallway in front of the elevator he performs a yogalike stretch. “I think I've lost all feeling in my toes,” he says.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since three-thirty.”

I look at my watch. “It's only three-forty five.”

“Exactly.”

“How's the job search going?”

“I thought this was our break?”

“Sorry, Jamie. I was just wondering what your story was.”

“Avoidance.”

I remember my earlier observation. “Have you thought about going into show business?”

“Yeah, why? You think I could be a star?”

“I was thinking you'd like to work for a film company. I have a friend in the city who works for Miramax. I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you.”

“That would be amazing.” He faces me and puts both hands on my shoulders. “You're always looking out for me, huh?”

“Always,” I answer. “Let's get back to work.”

“What do you say we work for forty minutes and then do a massage train?”

Who knew my Alpha Phi massage train would be a hit at B-school? “It's not a massage train with only two of us. It's just a massage.” He looks forlorn, so I decide to compromise. “Fine. But first I work for an hour.”

“Half an hour,” he negotiates.

“Forty minutes,” I say. I set my watch and return to my work.

Forty minutes later, my alarm goes off. I stop it before the librarian boots us out for disturbing the peace. “Me first,” I whisper. He stands up behind me, rolls his sleeves, and begins massaging my neck. Tighter…oooh…ahh…It's sooo good. I feel sooo relaxed. I feel sooo good.

I feel sooo…aroused?

I probably shouldn't be feeling aroused at the library. I probably shouldn't be feeling aroused by a man who's not my boyfriend.

Sunday, March 7, 4:00 p.m.

R
uss doesn't answer when I knock on his door, so I knock again.

I hear the
Spider-Man
soundtrack. Why isn't he answering if he's inside? Is it possible…is he…is he in there with someone else? Bastard. He's probably sleeping with some slut. Who? Who can he possibly be screwing? Lauren? Layla? Some coed?

“You'd better open up,” I say, seething, and continue pounding. “I know you're in there. Open the damn door!”

The door creaks. I kick it wide open. “Where is—”

Russ's hair is ruffled, and his eyes are half-closed. He's wearing jeans and his favorite green Roots sweatshirt. He's alone. “Were you napping?” I ask, feeling stupid.

He nods and lies back down. Why was he napping when he was supposed to be studying Finance? The midterm is tomorrow. And it's impossible. For me, anyway. I don't understand any of this stuff. I'm going to fail. It's only worth twenty percent, but still.

Russ also has to finish his part for the GBE project. He
promised Jamie that he would have his section done by five. Jamie has to finish putting it together and hand it all in tomorrow. Just like he did for the Marketing assignment, Russ is the last one to finish his part for the GBE. “Did you finish studying for Finance?”

“Almost.”

I think he's lying. “Yeah? Good. Let's work on Operations, then.”

He groans. “Let me get a cup of coffee.”

Nick sticks his head in the doorway. “Russ, aren't you coming with me to ref?”

Ref? What is he talking about?

Russ slaps his good hand across his forehead. “Oh, man. I forgot.”

“What's ref?” I ask. Don't tell me he's blowing off studying for basketball. Again.

“I promised I'd referee the game tonight, since I can't play.” He waves his sprained hand at me.

“You promised to referee a game when we have a midterm tomorrow? Are you crazy?”

He scratches his head. “It does seem stupid, now that you mention it.”

“You can't get out of it now, dude,” Nick says.

Why is there a basketball game right before a midterm? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

“I'm just refereeing the first game and then I'll be back,” Russ says. “Give me an hour.”

Is he an idiot? “You think you can finish studying and also finish your part of the assignment all tonight? Does this mean you're going to be pulling another all-nighter?”

“Probably.” He kisses me on the forehead and scampers off. That boy seriously needs a vacation.

 

I review my notes for Finance and then take a ten-minute break to play on Travelocity to find a last-minute vacation.

Apparently I cannot afford Barbados. Maybe Miami? Seems like every undergrad in the world is going to Miami. I need something cheap. Romantic. Did I mention cheap? Montreal pops up. Montreal? Is Montreal cheap?

“Go on a romantic ski resort vacation in Montreal!” the computer cries out to me. Fireplace. Hot chocolate. Cuddling. Lots of cuddling. Skiing. French. It's like going to Europe but much, much closer. Canada it is. I have always wanted to go to Canada. Really. Mountains. Clean air. Fun. How cold can it be? I've always wanted to learn to ski. Slaloming down the mountain. Sexy. In one of those sexy ski outfits. Tight and impractical. Look, I'm a ski bunny! Skiing in Montreal it is. And there's a last-minute special.

At ten, Jamie comes by looking for Russ and his part of the assignment. “He said he'd have it done by five,” he moans. “It's due tomorrow.”

“He's almost done,” I lie.

“Tell him I'm going to bed early, and that I'll put it together during lunch tomorrow.”

At eleven, yes
eleven,
Russ knocks on my door. “Do you think I can finish the assignment tomorrow?”

Is he joking? “Russ, you need to get it to Jamie
tonight.
”

He fidgets with a pimple scar on his cheek. He's been breaking out a lot lately. What's wrong with him? “That's slightly problematic,” he says.

“Look, why don't I help you with it? It won't take more than an hour.”

We work on it until one. He keeps glancing at his watch.

“What?” I ask. “You turning into a pumpkin?”

“I just want to start studying for tomorrow.”

Oh. My. God. “Did you just say
start?
It's 1:00 a.m.! Are you crazy? Why didn't you tell me you haven't started? Why haven't you started?”

“I've been busy.”

“I've been busy, too, but I still managed to study for my
midterms. Especially the one tomorrow, which let me remind you is worth twenty percent.”

He looks at his watch again.

“Go,” I say. “I'll finish this and send it to Jamie.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses me on the lips. “I love you.”

I love you? Did he just say the L word? He looks surprised that he said it. I don't know if he meant to, but it's too late. It's out there, suspended in the air like potent cologne. He loves me. “I love you, too.” Mission officially complete!