Beyond the Point(65)

The pen in Dani’s hand suddenly ran out of ink. She scratched invisible lines on the page, frantically trying to get it to come back to life.

“Damn it,” Dani whispered under her breath.

“You okay?” her subject, James O’Leary, asked. He’d turned off the water and was toweling off outside the shower.

Digging a new pen out of her overstuffed purse, Dani stopped her stopwatch and jotted down the time. 7 min. 32 secs. It was a relatively long shower. Most guys limited their showers to five minutes, tops. Ignoring the inquisitive smile on his face, she started in on her list of questions.

“So, James, when you’re in the shower, what do you think about?” she asked. “What’s going on in your brain?”

“I’d say I’m mostly going through my schedule. Or thinking about what I’m going to eat next. Don’t write that down. That was a joke.”

Dani wrote it down, mostly because she knew it was true.

The clipboard in her hands listed his name and demographic stats, and though she’d already read it over a half dozen times, she found herself studying his details again.

JAMES O’LEARY. White 28-yr-old male, $38K. Educator/coach.

It seemed impossible for someone to live on that kind of salary in a city like Boston. Sure, he lived in Jamaica Plain, and his apartment was nothing like the four-bedroom, three-bathroom penthouse with a view of the Charles River Dani had secured. But how did James O’Leary buy groceries on $38,000? No wonder he worried about what he was going to eat next.

Her yellow legal pad had filled with notes about everything from the type of shampoo he used to the order in which he washed his body. Observation was the only way to find insight—and that’s what Dani needed to find. A lightbulb. A general psychological truth, baked into an aha moment, that E & G could use to inspire Gelhomme’s next commercial campaign.

“What are you doing now?” she asked as he approached the sink.

“Now, I shave,” he said, opening his arms to present the long counter in front of him. “If you must know.”

“I must. It’s why I’m here.”

He spread a smear of shaving cream across his jawline—a square and impressive jawline, Dani noted. He rinsed his hands, then reached for a silver razor on the counter. Running it under warm water, James slid it down his face, cheek to chin, cheek to chin, in perfect vertical lines.

“Do you enjoy shaving?” asked Dani.

“Of course not. It’s a chore. Does anyone like chores?”

“So why do you do it?”

He rinsed the blade under the faucet. Little black hairs had gathered like confetti along the counter.

“What do you mean, why do I do it?” he said. “I have to.”

“Says who?”

He splashed his face with warm water and retrieved a hand towel from the floor. Dingy and damp, it looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in weeks. Dani made a note of the moldy smell in the bathroom and the water splotches on the mirror.

“I guess there’s something to be said for a good habit,” he said. “Like making your bed every day. There’s a ritual to it. You may not love doing it, but it gives you something in return.”

“What does it give you?”

He sighed, placing the razor back in a dirty cup on the counter.

“Control, I guess. Maybe that’s all we want anyway.”

Without waiting to see if his interviewer was satisfied with that answer, James disappeared into his bedroom.

“I’m just changing,” he said through the crack in the closet door. “Help yourself to coffee in the kitchen. I’ll be out in a sec.”

TAKING HER SUBJECT up on his offer of coffee, Dani held a steaming cup in one hand and flipped through the set of notes she’d taken that morning, leaning over the island in his kitchen. Something about his answers had struck her as meaningful. Perhaps even essential. Control. Ritual.

There was something to what he’d said, but she couldn’t put her finger on it at the moment, so instead packed away her notepad in her bag and prepared to leave.

Her subject emerged from his bedroom dressed in khaki pants and a slim fit collared shirt, in what Dani assessed must be his school’s colors—burgundy and white. He picked up the remote control and pointed to the television screen, swapping the Today show for ESPN.

“You a Red Sox fan?” asked Dani, lifting her mug, which had the team’s classic logo on the side.

“Unfortunately yes. Last year was incredible. But I doubt they’ll win a World Series again in our lifetime.”

“How can you say that? That’s the beauty of sports—every new season is a fresh slate.”

“Nothing’s a fresh slate.”

“Ah, so you’re a pessimist.”

“Sure, the Red Sox won a World Series. But that cursed mentality still persists. You got guys with those old mind-sets, old habits. Old injuries. You’re always fighting the past. And the Red Sox. They’ve got a hell of a past. And I’m a realist, not pessimist.”

He paused, then pointed his thumb back toward the bathroom.

“It’s not like if I shave really really well one day, the hair won’t grow back. No matter how good a job I do today, I know I’ll look in the mirror tomorrow and have to shave again. Coaching is like that. It’s just grooming. Every day I show up, and I have to remove the bad little insecurities and old habits that have cropped back up overnight in my boys. I can’t change who they are or what they bring with them every day. Best I can do is groom it.”