Deaf American Prose: 1980-2010

Deaf Girls Can

98 Carl Wayne Denney Deaf Girls Can The sun was setting across the Pacific as Evan snapped his suspenders out over his cream colored oxford shirt. The news conference was to begin in thirty minutes and he was feeling a certain sense of nervousness settling in his stomach, with his legs shaking with slight tics underneath his brown trousers. He brushed his hand over his close cropped hair and rubbed his face. Sighing, he drummed his fingers along the long windowsill that supported the huge louvered windows that dominated his office. Walking back to his oaken desk that always seemed a mile wide to aspiring starlets, he paused once again to look at the pendulum clock facing the desk where a dozen photographs were neatly arranged. Still no closer to the appointed time. He sat in his chair and leaned back, slowly gazing around the immense space. The left wall was neatly crammed tight with the company’s best-selling DVDs on an elegant oaken shelf assemblage. Before him lay three long and sleek leather couches atop an expensive Persian rug with a glass coffee table in the middle. The couches—designed in a wide U—faced a 60-inch plasma television that dominated the space. Two ceiling fans lazily rotated as the genuine fern trees stood in their pots on both corners, obviously overgrown. On his right were windows facing where the western end of Huntington Beach hit the Pacific Ocean. There was a door—off-limits to everybody but a select few within the company—that led to the beach. Along the way were several benches and chaise lounges. The eastern end of the building faced the employees’ parking lot and a circular fountain upon which a long-haired goddess stood before the main entrance. Many times, late at night, Evan would leave his office to take long walks along the shore. In the early days, maybe a dozen years ago, Evan would spend hours out there on his own, contemplating ways to speed up the growth of his fledging business. Later at night came the deep formulations on how to expand his booming empire. Of late, he admitted to himself, these thoughts were of his own morality. On his desk sat three 27-inch computer monitors. Two were on his right-hand side with the third directly on his left. The third one was the most important visual friend he ever had and the one he spent most of his office hours focused on, even though the screen basically showed the same information on an hourly basis—all on the up and up. The monitor on the far right was his “phone.” He could click a few buttons and those he needed to speak with would appear instantly, ready for his every question. He was a man who demanded answers and if he didn’t get them quickly, the speaker Main_Pgs_1-330.indd 98 3/28/2012 10:24:51 AM Carl Wayne Denney 99 on the receiving end would soon find himself out on the street. Luckily for him, that had been a rare occurrence. He looked at the clock again. Twenty-five minutes to go. Exhaling deeply, he leaned forward to look at the middle screen, again drumming his fingers on his desk, avoiding the temptation to check to see if his fingernails were trimmed perfectly—as they always were. Highlights of ESPN Sports Center were being shown and he smiled wryly as Kobe Bryant twisted his body in the air effortlessly for an otherwise ordinary layup. He was a Lakers fan, had season tickets three rows up from mid-court and went every time he could. He doubted maybe ten people in the whole lower arena at Staples, excluding the ushers, knew his name and all that was about to change in, a quick glance directly ahead—twenty-two minutes. He leaned back, propped his brown oxford brogues on top of his desk and leaned his neck behind his hands as one of his personal secretaries entered from the double doors on his immediate left. He nodded as he noted that it was Nancy, a new one. She was tall and elegant, her platinum blond hair pulled sternly back. She was tanned and taut, had an easy smile filled with sparkling white teeth, and wore open-toed sandals. He gave her a slight upward nod of recognition as she stood before him. She had been here maybe six months and had a child, a...