Maternity Leave

by Trish Felice Cohen

  Not this again. David gave us a thirty minute play-by-play of his trip to Mesa Verde when he returned from vacation last August. Fortunately, this time we only had to hear a ten-minute version for Scott’s benefit. I zoned out as the Mesa Verde discussion merged back into the Joseph the artist discussion. “…Joseph put the one hundred dollars in his savings account, where he puts his allowance each week. He’s really great with money. Joseph actually has everything going for him. My daughter is a pretty good kid, but she’s not a popular, athletic, overachiever like Joseph. Joseph has it all.”

  David said this as though Joseph, never Joe or Joey, was a broker on Wall Street with a sports car and six-figure salary instead of an eight-year-old boy with an allowance and $100 in art money. I’d never met either kid, but based on David’s disapproval of his daughter, I figured we’d get along splendidly. As excited as I was about missing three subrogation meetings for my pregnancy, I feared I would miss the meeting where David explained to us that his daughter dropped out of college, got tattoos and piercings and eloped with a Goy. Surely it would happen one of these days.

  Mercifully, he stopped talking, looked at Sam and said, “Are you ready?”

  Sam pretended to be scared and said, “Man, I’m glad I prepared for this all weekend. I’m ready to go.”

  Sam’s presentation was about subrogation waivers. There are very few subrogation-specific areas of law, so we generally discuss subrogation waivers every three months or so. The PowerPoint presentation was a new development, which pissed me off. Why the hell was Sam raising the bar on a task that was already excruciating, not to mention entirely non-billable?

  I zoned out. I always sit so I’m facing the window view of downtown Tampa and today I was treated to watching window washers in the next building. “Jenna, we have a case like that right?”

  Oh shit. No clue what he’s talking about. Pull something out of your ass Jenna. “Yeah, the watchamacallit case.”

  David said, “McDowell case.”

  “Yes. The McDowell case,” I repeated.

  “Does the waiver apply in that matter?”

  “Yes. I plan to recommend closing it.”

  “Really? I don’t know, I think it’s the perfect case. Even if it’s not, we should keep it open so that we can settle it after we set a precedent.”

  We have this discussion monthly. David has a fantasy about taking a case about subrogation waivers to the Supreme Court. All he has to do is find the perfect factual case to make subrogation history. David finds it immaterial that all of his arguments have already been unsuccessfully litigated.

  “Your case is perfect. It’s against Geico.” David laughed at his joke, setting off laughter throughout the room. Our firm represents Auto-Owners and Liberty Mutual. I’m not quite sure why these companies are so superior to Geico in the mind of David Greene, but he picks on Geico constantly. I guarantee he would sing a different tune if I disguised my voice and called David posing as the Geico subrogation director. There is no doubt that he would suck up and vie for my business.

  At 9:56 Sam was still speaking. This was dangerous because David needs a certain amount of time to talk during each meeting. If the presenter uses up the balance of the hour after David’s opening act, we get stuck with a meeting that lasts six or seven minutes longer than necessary. I erred on the side of caution for my last presentation two months ago by preparing only eight minutes of material. Even after David added his “war stories” to my presentation, we were out at 9:48 a.m., a wild success in my opinion. At this rate, Sam’s presentation was going to spill over the one hour time allotted to subrogation meetings.

  Sam finished speaking at 10:02 a.m. What an asshole. David said, “Thank you Sam. That was a great presentation. Before we go, does anyone have any cases they’d like to discuss with the group?”

  Sam raised his hand. No way. Your monologue is over.

  “Yes, Sam,” David said.

  “I have a two million dollar case set for mediation this week, so keep your fingers crossed.”

  “That’s great, Sam,” David said, as his eyes turned into dollar signs. “Anyone else?”

  No one else raised their hand. I started to stand as David said, “Just so you guys know, I was recently honored by Who’s Who of American Subrogation Attorneys and it was reported in Subrogator Magazine.” It must have killed David to sit on that information for the entire meeting. A few people started clapping and giving their congratulations. Apparently, David thought this was a good note on which to end the meeting. He stood up, and we all followed suit. It was 10:04 a.m.

  As I walked towards my desk, I felt a shadow. I turned my head and saw Sarah. I kept walking, but Sarah caught up to me and said, “I’m onto you.”

  I played stupid. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not pregnant. You have the exact same zit on your chin and un-tweezed eyebrows as you did yesterday at the mall.”

  “Thanks for noticing.” Surely I have a beauty mark she could have focused on.

  “I also noticed the scar on your mouth when you smile.”

  I do not recall smiling then and I sure as shit was not smiling now, but she had me. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Why are you faking a pregnancy? Do you feel left out because everyone else your age is pregnant? You’re not too old yet, you can still have kids.”

  “I’m twenty-eight,” I said incredulously.

  “I know,” Sarah said, looking at me with pity. “There are even women in their thirties having kids.”

  “There’s women in their sixties that have kids, you should keep using birth control.”

  “Ha ha. You can’t stay pregnant forever, sooner or later you’re going to have to face the fact that you don’t have a kid and won’t have one in July.”

  “Let’s analyze me later. Are you going to tell David?”

  “No, don’t worry,” Sarah said.

  Sarah has worked for David for over twenty years. She doubles as his paralegal and fluffer; there is nothing she wouldn’t do for him. On the other hand, I am a total condescending bitch to her, so I was a bit skeptical that she would keep my confidence from David. There would be a catch.

  “You know,” she said, “Andy and I broke up.”

  It was three weeks since they’d met and one week since she’d told me they were in love. Still, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. She stared at me, begging me to ask her what happened. I was actually curious, as it was bound to be a great story, but I hated to behave in accordance with Sarah’s wishes. Nevertheless, I was a sport and asked her what happened, partly because I was trying to get on her good side and partly because I knew Sarah would tell me the story whether I asked her or not.

  “He was just hot and cold, you know. Like he would tell me he was crazy about me, then he wouldn’t call for days, then he would text me and tell me he loved me and I was the best thing that ever happened to him. It was so frustrating. Then I met Josh. I’m with Josh now. Andy blew it.”

  “Good for you.” Please don’t tell me about Josh, please don’t tell me about Josh, please don’t tell me about Josh.

  “You know Josh don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  “He works for E-Copy.”

  E-Copy is the in-house copy and shipping center for Johnson Smith. I know what most of them look like, but don’t know their names.

  “He’s the young hot guy with the surfer hair and glasses.”

  “The guy with the long black hair split down the center?” I said in disbelief.

  “Yes!” Sarah said, “I call him my baby boy. I love hot young men.”

  I couldn’t decide if I was more shocked by the relationship, or Sarah’s description of Josh. First, Josh was probably thirty-five years old, which was young compared to her sixty years, but hardly a baby. Second, he was not hot, though it was possible that he could be decent looking if he cut his hair and didn’t behave like a mass murderer. He speaks in a monotone voice and walk
s quickly with his hands in his pockets while staring at the ground. I’ve always gone out of my way to be nice to Josh because I’m quite sure he will walk into the office and open fire one day. By building a rapport with the freak, I hope to be spared on the day he blows.

  “Good for you, Sarah,” I said.

  “I just wanted you to know that if you were interested in Andy, he’s available now.”

  “I’m good,” I said.

  “In that case, I have a different guy for you.”

  Yikes. “That’s okay,” I said.

  “It would actually help me out a lot. See, my son still lives with me and this girl broke his heart and he hasn’t done anything but pine over her for weeks. He’s always there when Josh is over and it’s annoying. It would help me and him if you went out with him.”

  This was worse than anything I could have imagined. I was ready to shell out money, clean her house and do all of her paralegal work, but dating her son was out of the question. “Sorry Sarah, I don’t think that will work out. Isn’t your son forty-something?”

  “Yes, forty-two.”

  “I’m twenty-eight. That’s a pretty big gap.”

  “No it’s not. I’m sixty and I’m dating a thirty-six-year-old.”

  Probably not the time to tell her how much that grosses me out. Was it really necessary for me to explain to this lady that a forty-two-year-old guy that lives with his mom is undatable and that, P.S., I would never date anyone with Sarah Smith blood coursing through his veins. I tried to be tactful and said, “Hmm. Sarah, I just don’t know if this is a good idea. I mean, maybe it’s too soon after having his heart broken.”

  “It’s the perfect time. I actually think you and Tony would really get along. He was a cyclist when he was younger and he’s been getting back into it recently.”

  “I don’t think it will work out Sarah,” I said again, more desperately this time.

  “Jenna,” Sarah said glaring at me, “I would meet Tony if I were you.”

  The threat was clear so I said, “Okay.” As the word came out of my mouth I was already thinking of how to get out of the situation.

  My office phone rang, and I could tell by the caller I.D. that it was my dad, but I answered the phone in my work voice. “Hello, Jenna Rosen.”

  “It’s me,” Dad said, “I thought you had caller I.D.”

  “Yes, let me just pull that file up.” I covered the mouthpiece and told Sarah I had to take the call.

  Once she left, I said, “Hi Dad. Sorry, I was trying to get someone out of my office.”

  “Want to have lunch?”

  “Yeah. It’s not too hot on my deck in the shade, let’s do lunch there at noon. Can you pick up sandwiches?”

  “Sure.”

  Just before I left for lunch, I received a junk mail email from a person trying to recover her sunglasses, which were stolen right off her desk. I added the email to the stolen goods file even though it wasn’t that spectacular. Other thefts at Johnson Smith included:

  –I had a large umbrella next to my desk this morning with George Washington University on it and it is missing. I normally wouldn’t care, but it has sentimental value (Interesting side note, it was raining the day this email was sent).

  –Please let me know if you received a check in the amount of $245,000 from Casualty Company Southeast made payable to Johnson Smith. (Oopsy Daisy).

  –Missing green and blue Asian-style mug with hatch-mark relief. It has been missing for over a week. This is my favorite mug and is very special to me. I appreciate your assistance in having it returned. (I’ll send you back one piece of the mug at a time until all of my demands are met).

  –The candy bars in the kitchen cost $1.00 each. My kid needs the money for his fundraiser and I don’t appreciate the person who ate the chocolate, filled the wrapper with paper towel, and put it back in the box to be sold. (She attached a picture. The person did a decent job covering up the heist).

  I was out cold on my hammock when my Dad arrived, a few minutes late for lunch. Dad finished tax season a month and a half ago, and he was just now getting to his “Jenna” list, which he brought to lunch today. Dad’s lists are notorious, specifically, his grocery, movie, restaurant and tax lists.

  When I was little, Dad bitched to my Mom about not having Fiber One when he specifically put it on the grocery list. Instead of going back to the store, Mom went on strike and told Dad to go himself and get whatever food his heart desired. The first time he ventured into the store, it took him seven hours. After that, he decided the problem with the grocery store was that it was not organized in the order in which the Rosen household ran out of food. He decided to create a list, in aisle order, of all of the products my family buys. He had his secretary type the list and ever since, one of her duties has been to update the list as new and exciting food products are introduced into the marketplace. This was a pain in the ass when I was a kid because if I wanted crackers, I couldn’t just write crackers on the list. I had to find it, highlight it, and specify which kind, how many ounces, and request either regular, low fat or fat-free. I haven’t seen the list in eight years but Mom tells me it’s up to four pages now.

  Dad’s movie list is equally anal. Every Friday, the newspaper publishes a blurb about each movie currently playing and lists its average review from various critics. Dad reads these blurbs, then cuts out the movies he wants to watch. Next, he glues the blurbs onto his master list, which he photocopies in triplicate. He keeps one copy at his office, one at home and one in his fireproof safe. Every time Dad watches a movie, he crosses it off all three lists. He watches these movies in order and will not deviate. He is currently up to 1986.

  His restaurant list is another meticulous compilation based on reviews in the Friday paper. I’ve always looked forward to trying one of the restaurants described on that list, but for the last seven years that I’ve gone out to dinner with my parents, Dad has never been in the mood for anything except a grouper reuben and sangria from BallyHoo’s Restaurant.

  The final list, the tax season list, is actually a compilation of notes, email printouts, articles and records from the end of January to the end of April. This annual list begins when Dad becomes too busy during tax season to attend to all but the most pressing matters. If I don’t include a red flag in the subject line of an email between January and April, it goes into the “Jenna” tax season folder along with other “Jenna” documents. In May or June, he gets around to opening the folder to go over each item. Of course, the folder is a time capsule by this time.

  “Did you get the exterminator’s phone number?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, I got it from Mom and he’s come twice since that email was sent.”

  “Did you find Webster, Florida?”

  “Yes. That was from my phone. I was on the road texting you on my way to a bike race I couldn’t find.”

  “You think I’m helping you find a bike race so you can break your teeth again?”

  “You’ll be happy to know I found the race and won.”

  “What did you win?”

  “A hundred and twenty bucks.”

  “How much did it cost to fix your nose and replace the teeth you lost?”

  “Out of pocket, five thousand dollars. What’s next on your list?”

  “I saw this in Parade magazine, it’s an article on pet insurance. I thought you might want to look into it.”

  “I saw that too. I’m good for now. Next.”

  “Here, sign this so that you’re renewed with Triple A.”

  As I signed, Dad said, “Here’s an email from you in February asking me to go to lunch with you. That’s safe to throw out.” He flipped to the next paper in the folder and said, “Yes you can borrow the kayak two months ago. Did you go?”

  “Yes, at low tide. I pretty much walked the kayak through the mangroves. What’s next?”

  “Here’s an article you sent me on Nalgene bottles causing cancer, you should have sent that one to me with a red flag for u
rgency.”

  “You’ve been using them for years, what’s a few more months? Besides, the reverse study has already come out. Nalgene is safe again. Next.”

  “What the hell is that?” Dad said.

  I looked down at Sonny and said, “A penis.”

  “Was the teacher Mom set you up with that bad?”

  “Yes, actually, but I didn’t touch, let alone cut off his penis. That’s Sonny’s dildo and you don’t want to know where it came from. I actually haven’t seen it in a while, he must have unburied it especially for you.”

  “Great,” Dad said, returning to his list rather than addressing the dildo in his granddog’s mouth. He said, “This one says you want to borrow my car in March. Oops, sorry.”

  “That’s okay, I borrowed Jason’s.”

  “How did he get to school?” Dad asked.

  “He probably skipped school,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Don’t take his car so that he can’t go to school.”

  “He wasn’t going to go anyway. I kept him from getting into trouble elsewhere.”

  “Does he really not go to school?” Dad asked, suddenly serious.

  “Of course not. He doesn’t smoke, drink, stay up late or have sex either.”

  “That kid scares me. Do you still need the plumber’s number?”

  “No, Danny helped me,” I replied.

  “Do you still need a warranty for your washer?”

  “No, I just paid to fix it.”

  “Why don’t you keep your records?” he asked, a little exasperated.

  “Because you keep them for me.”

  “I’m going to stop doing that and give you all of your files.”

  He tells me this every year. I’m terrified that he’ll follow through at some point, so I quickly changed the topic and asked, “So, what movie are you up to?”

  “Ghost. Have you seen it? It has Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore in it.”