to his parents. He wanted to do something nominally sexy. He wanted to drive an obnoxiously fast car, live in an aggressively modern apartment that was not child-friendly, stock his wine rack with big Barolos, and shag. In reverse order.
Architecture seemed the thing.
Max smiled at his brother over the frothy top of his pint of beer. “Architecture is great. Did you think you might use your degree? Computer-aided design and all that?”
“For some reason, the ladies like architects. That was my main factor when narrowing down the field, of course—that, and what I might be able to do with the least possible effort. I just looked up sexy professions, you know, the guy most likely and all that, and the top five were athlete, fireman, doctor, architect, or model.”
Max’s smile encouraged Devon to elaborate.
“I’m too lazy to be a professional athlete… snooker maybe, but the hours, you know, or Formula One driving, but then there’s all the expense, danger, and travel bother. Fireman… such a mess, and again, unplanned interruptions, late-night calls, going into burning buildings, and all that… I could always do a bit of volunteer fireman stuff if my magnetism starts to wane.”
Max was smiling and shaking his head as he listened to his younger brother go on without a hint of irony.
“Doctor? Ridiculous… who has the time to sit through another five years of boring lectures? And again, angry sick people calling at all hours. No thanks. Model?”
Max burst out laughing and almost spit his beer across the bar.
Devon half stood up from his barstool to get a better look at himself in the angled mirror above the shelf of spirits behind the bar. “What? I’m not half bad.”
“Oh, Devon.” Max tried to contain his laughter. “You are a prize. Of course, you could work the runways… show me your walk!”
Devon smiled and situated himself back into his seat. “So that left architect. And, not like I am looking for a life of the mind or anything, but I thought I could do some mathematical or computer-related something or other without the nuisance of graduate study. Honestly, I don’t know what you think you will find in Chicago, of all places. Five years of discussing anything , much less statistical linear and nonlinear regression analyses, sounds like a recipe for heartbreak.” Devon turned to face his older brother full-on, grabbed his upper arms firmly, widened his eyes, and proclaimed theatrically, “Don’t do it! Stay with me! I can’t bear it!”
Two twentysomething women were walking past just then and smiled warmly at the two brothers: Max had come straight from the office and his suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his blue-and-white striped shirt open at the collar, dark wavy hair disheveled, gray eyes gleaming; Devon had on his perpetual uniform of a T-shirt with something ridiculous written on it (preferably provocative or meaningless or both), a perfectly worn-in pair of old blue jeans, and an alluring mop of light brown hair that always looked like it was two weeks past needing a trim and fell seductively across one eye.
Devon released his hold on his brother’s upper arms, picked up his pint of lager, and raised it to the two women in mock salute. “Well, hello, ladies.”
Devon glanced briefly at Max, then back at the charming little redhead who had apparently decided to stay. “My brother was just leaving, weren’t you, Max?” Devon asked, without turning to look at Max. “He’s moving to America to blaze his own trail, make his way in the world.” Devon made a vague, broad circular gesture with his free hand. “He’s a thinker.”
Max took the last swig of his beer, stood up, threw his coat over one shoulder, and grabbed his briefcase from where it had been lodged between his stool and the wainscoting at the foot of the bar. “Please take my seat, Miss…?”
“Tina! I’m Tina; nice to meet you.” She looked at Max for a split second then let her
Architecture seemed the thing.
Max smiled at his brother over the frothy top of his pint of beer. “Architecture is great. Did you think you might use your degree? Computer-aided design and all that?”
“For some reason, the ladies like architects. That was my main factor when narrowing down the field, of course—that, and what I might be able to do with the least possible effort. I just looked up sexy professions, you know, the guy most likely and all that, and the top five were athlete, fireman, doctor, architect, or model.”
Max’s smile encouraged Devon to elaborate.
“I’m too lazy to be a professional athlete… snooker maybe, but the hours, you know, or Formula One driving, but then there’s all the expense, danger, and travel bother. Fireman… such a mess, and again, unplanned interruptions, late-night calls, going into burning buildings, and all that… I could always do a bit of volunteer fireman stuff if my magnetism starts to wane.”
Max was smiling and shaking his head as he listened to his younger brother go on without a hint of irony.
“Doctor? Ridiculous… who has the time to sit through another five years of boring lectures? And again, angry sick people calling at all hours. No thanks. Model?”
Max burst out laughing and almost spit his beer across the bar.
Devon half stood up from his barstool to get a better look at himself in the angled mirror above the shelf of spirits behind the bar. “What? I’m not half bad.”
“Oh, Devon.” Max tried to contain his laughter. “You are a prize. Of course, you could work the runways… show me your walk!”
Devon smiled and situated himself back into his seat. “So that left architect. And, not like I am looking for a life of the mind or anything, but I thought I could do some mathematical or computer-related something or other without the nuisance of graduate study. Honestly, I don’t know what you think you will find in Chicago, of all places. Five years of discussing anything , much less statistical linear and nonlinear regression analyses, sounds like a recipe for heartbreak.” Devon turned to face his older brother full-on, grabbed his upper arms firmly, widened his eyes, and proclaimed theatrically, “Don’t do it! Stay with me! I can’t bear it!”
Two twentysomething women were walking past just then and smiled warmly at the two brothers: Max had come straight from the office and his suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his blue-and-white striped shirt open at the collar, dark wavy hair disheveled, gray eyes gleaming; Devon had on his perpetual uniform of a T-shirt with something ridiculous written on it (preferably provocative or meaningless or both), a perfectly worn-in pair of old blue jeans, and an alluring mop of light brown hair that always looked like it was two weeks past needing a trim and fell seductively across one eye.
Devon released his hold on his brother’s upper arms, picked up his pint of lager, and raised it to the two women in mock salute. “Well, hello, ladies.”
Devon glanced briefly at Max, then back at the charming little redhead who had apparently decided to stay. “My brother was just leaving, weren’t you, Max?” Devon asked, without turning to look at Max. “He’s moving to America to blaze his own trail, make his way in the world.” Devon made a vague, broad circular gesture with his free hand. “He’s a thinker.”
Max took the last swig of his beer, stood up, threw his coat over one shoulder, and grabbed his briefcase from where it had been lodged between his stool and the wainscoting at the foot of the bar. “Please take my seat, Miss…?”
“Tina! I’m Tina; nice to meet you.” She looked at Max for a split second then let her
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