16. JACK

Our second night in London was the evening out with the team. So as the workday drew to a close, excitement in the office rose almost to a fever pitch. Female colleagues began disappearing to the ladies’ room and came back with lipstick on and hair brushed. Male colleagues began to pool around and loudly ask, “When are we leaving?”

Just after six, we all trooped out of the office building, twelve of us in total – some people had other plans or had to go home – and we indulged in lighthearted banter as a whole group as we walked through Soho with the evening light turning the day dusky.

Laura steered our group toward a traditional London pub down a quiet backstreet. Its cozy facade – all etched glass and dark wood – beckoned us in. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ancient ale and fried food, which was surprisingly tempting at the end of a long workday.

Paul’s eyes widened as he soaked in the rich history of the place, which had, according to a sign behind the counter, had been open since 1772 – since before America even existed. From ornate fixtures and moldings on the walls and ceilings to the stunning glass windows, the place told a story of bygone days and cherished traditions.

“It looks like a movie set,” he said.

I laughed.

“Wait till 11:00p.m. It will look like a battlefield.”

I put my credit card behind the bar and told the landlord to allow people in our party to order whatever they wanted.

“No restrictions?” the landlord asked.

I grinned and shook my head.

“No, none.”

Paul and I stood at the bar, trying to decide which beer to order. The brands either seemed very cutting-edge or to be out of some Charles Dickens novel. We chose the same one, a bit randomly, and what appeared from the tap was some kind of golden-pink pale ale.

The idea that had first occurred to me the night before, that I might feel some attraction to Paul, seemed more foolish now in the hard light of day.

He was a cute-looking guy, of course, and he was funny and smart, kind and perceptive. That kind perceptiveness was, in fact, one of his most attractive qualities. But a person having attractive qualities doesn’t mean you’re attracted to them.

I couldn’t say I had never been attracted to another man. Like any guy who has seen any amount of porn, the physical presence of a man could be arousing to me: hard bodies, hard cocks. But that’s porn, which I think everyone knows is not real life.

I had seen guys in the gym locker who I thought were good-looking. But that’s not the same as wanting something sexual with them. It’s just a thought that blows through your mind, and then it’s gone.

That’s all it really is.

Our group took over a long table in the corner of the bar, and we managed to fit all twelve of us around it. The top was soon covered in pint and wine glasses, opened packets of what the locals were calling “crisps” – potato chips – and the odd cigarette packet for those who would brave the outside night air to have a smoke.

Very quickly, any formality faded, and animated conversation filled the air: jokes about work things, the gently sharp ribbing in which the British specialize.

The pub as a whole was transformed by our presence, our laughter and joy. Inevitably, I found myself at the center of it all, the boss, who had to take a joke and now and then make a joke.

As the night wore on, we were starting to feel like one big, slightly boozy family, and people began to form into smaller groups to chat in a more relaxed way. I knew it was my job to get up and work the room a bit – so that everyone had a bit of “Jack time”!

But as I did so, I found myself stealing glances at Paul as he chatted with his new colleagues. There was a certain energy about him in that place, a gregariousness in him I had not noticed before. He sat with William, and they seemed to have a natural rapport, but others in the office warmed to him, too.

Just before 11:00, the landlord rang a large bell behind the bar.

“Last orders, please! Ten minutes to order drinks!”