Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland

by Lara Reznik

  What could I say? “Sorry.”

  He pursed his lips. “Ivy wanted me to do the abortion, but ya know, I don’t do that shit. Mom raised me Catholic.”

  I nodded. “I, ah, understand.”

  “Ivy did this to herself. She used a coat hanger.”

  I put my hands over my ears. It was too much for me to handle.

  Doc took my hands from my head and held them in his. “You done good, taking care of Ivy. Now you get some rest. Go back to that dormitory of yours for a few days. I’ll keep things together here.”

  When I reached our dorm room, I found Denise in bed singing along to Donovan’s “Mellow Yellow.” She smiled at me. “Okay, Lai, I’ll bet my Dead collection that you did it with that Chris dude last night.”

  I grinned. “Cool. Guess I’ll take possession now.”

  “You didn’t make it with him! Joey and I both—”

  “You better sit down.” I started to tell her about what had happened and then hesitated when it came to confessing what had transpired with Ben. Bottom line, I just couldn’t own up to what I’d done. I told her that Chris and I had come close but had been interrupted before we could go all the way. That was the truth with a minor omission.

  Okay, it’s not so minor. I don’t know why I couldn’t share it with Denise. Maybe I believed the fewer people who knew, the less chance Chris might find out. Maybe I felt like a jerk. One thing I did know. Last night had been a life-altering event that I couldn’t get out of my head.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I scrambled into American History class a few minutes late. Professor Friedman was a phenomenal professor but frowned on students who didn’t arrive to his classes on time. He glared as I slithered down the aisle to a seat in the back of the classroom. To my horror as I pulled out my notebook, I noticed everyone around me scribbling in blue booklets. I’d completely forgotten we were having a test on the Civil War.

  My stomach felt like I had swallowed a six-pack of razor blades. What if I failed? Back to Long Island, that’s what.

  Professor Friedman handed me the exam and a booklet. “Miss Levin, you’re lucky I’m in an exceptionally good mood this morning.”

  I gulped. “Sorry I’m late, sir.”

  I rarely sweat. It could be one hundred degrees with ninety-percent humidity and I’m dry as a rattlesnake. But that morning, perspiration flowed from every pore like an automatic sprinkler system on Ex-lax.

  As I scrutinized the exam, I believed it possible to squeak through a passing grade on the multiple-choice questions. I’d taken honors social studies in high school and remembered quite a bit of American history. But the essay questions were another story. We were given a choice:

  Discuss Lincoln’s war strategy after the attack of Union troops at Fort Sumter.

  OR

  What was the meaning and purpose of the Emancipation Proclamation?

  I chose the latter. All I could recall from Dr. Friedman’s lectures was that the Emancipation Proclamation was an executive order that committed the Union to ending slavery, a controversial decision even in the North. That one fact by itself would not get me a passing grade on the exam.

  Taking a “creative” approach I filled up a whole blue book comparing the Emancipation Proclamation (hereafter referred to as EM), to my own “emancipation” from Long Island middle class, non-socially conscious, unenlightened, materialistic values.

  Like the slaves in the EM, I, Laila Levin was now free. This meant I could now do whatever felt good. No guilt attached either. Note: I did not mention drugs, sex, and rock and roll, but assumed Professor Friedman knew that ‘felt good’ referred to them.

  Like EM, my decision to lead this new life was very controversial. To my parents for sure, even to me at times.

  After two hours, I reeled from the classroom in tears. I doubted Professor Friedman would appreciate my unusual take on the essay. For the first time in my life, I might actually fail an exam. I’d never gotten a grade below a B. Usually, pulled straight A’s.

  What if I lost my scholarship? I’d refuse to go back to Long Island. I belonged with my new family. With Chris and Ben. Why did I keep screwing everything up? I couldn’t even screw the right guy, for chrissakes.

  Following class, I headed to the U.B. clinic. The Bodine girls had said you could get birth control pills there. They’d often spoke in whispers about enduring painful pelvic exams by ‘Dr. Grumpy.’ A small price to pay for the ‘magic pills’ that provided women with their freedom.

  I sat in the waiting room for over two hours reading an old Look magazine with Mia Farrow on the cover. Finally, a nurse with a shock of bottle-red hair led me to an examination room and handed me a cloth gown. She told me to undress, scoot my hips down to the end of the table, and place my feet in the stirrups.

  Shortly after, ‘Dr. Grumpy’ arrived, checked out my chart, and squinted at me.

  I squeezed the nurse’s hand as he began the exam. She said to think about something pleasant like ice cream. I closed my eyes and pretended I was body surfing in the ocean in Florida. My family had spent many Christmas vacations there.

  After the doctor was done, he told me everything looked okay “down there,” and scribbled out a prescription. I asked him how soon the pills would take effect.

  “Just because you’re on the pill now young lady, doesn’t give you a license to be a whore,” was all the response I got.

  The nurse shrugged.

  I filled the scrip at the local pharmacy on Main Street. The hell with the moralistic doctor, my parents, and the whole establishment. I was now armed and ready to have some fun.

  It was late afternoon and shafts of the fading sunlight reflected on the dirty snow in the street. I decided to go visit Chris and test out my new pills. As I trotted past Rodman’s Diner, I popped one in my mouth. A couple of bikers started to whistle, then one gave hand motions to the others, and they all turned away. Doc had clearly gotten the word out.

  I arrived at the family’s house and pounded on the front door until my knuckles felt sore. When I gripped the doorknob, I discovered the door was unlocked. A thousand butterflies filled my stomach as I climbed the stairs to the apartment and found the door ajar. Would Chris be mad for me to arrive uninvited? Would Ben be home by now?

  The place was eerily silent. I wandered up to the attic and found Chris asleep with the lamp still on. I touched his face.

  To my surprise his eyes opened. “Hey darlin’, I’ve been waiting for you. I even took a shower.”

  I smiled. Thank God Chris was okay. “I went back to my dorm. How you feeling?”

  “Much better, but I’m chilly.” He pulled up the blankets. “Why don’t you climb inside and warm me up?” He reached out for my hand and kissed it. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the other night.”

  My body shivered in anticipation as I slipped off my jeans and peasant blouse and cuddled close to Chris in the bed.

  He pressed his body next to mine. “You’re really a cute chick.”

  “Ah, thanks.”

  He placed a sloppy kiss on my mouth. His breath was yucky. Things continued to move so fast that before I knew it, he had jammed himself inside me and began propelling himself up-and-down. In-and-out. It felt more strange than sexy.

  Oddly, all I could think about was failing my American History exam and how I would explain losing my scholarship to my parents. Maybe I could secure a job in one of the Bridgeport factories and move in with the family.

  Something was wrong. I thought about the night with Ben. How I had glowed and tingled all over. Did Ben know I was up here with Chris? Did he care?

  Chris continued pumping himself on top of me, and minutes later yelled, “Jesus!” and slid off.

  That’s it? Hot liquid dripped down my thighs.

  He kissed my cheek. “Got a cigarette?”

  “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

  He crept from the bed, fumbled around the floor, and retrieved a butt that had been half-smoked. “So, what did
you think of your first time, sweetheart?”

  “How did you… I mean, why did you think that?” I was positive I’d never disclosed my virginity status to him.

  He took my chin in his hand. “Ben told me.”

  I began to tremble. “Ben told you what?”

  “That you still, ya know, hadn’t had your cherry popped yet.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Go-Between

  Austin, Texas, 2012

  I ignore Ed’s question about Ben Franklin and pretend I’m asleep. Where would I begin to explain to my husband the tangled relationship I had with that man?

  The next morning, I return to work at my LBJ office in downtown Austin. I open my Outlook calendar and create a task to call Chris later. It’s critical to find out exactly what he told that detective. I also make a task to find an attorney.

  I’ve only been gone for three business days, but I have over one hundred e-mails. Computer requests, issues with software, business exceptions for me to approve. There are announcements about Bob E.’s ascent to CEO, and Darlene’s promotion to V.P.

  My assistant Dana strolls in with a stack of papers for me to sign.

  “Welcome back. How was the funeral?”

  “Very sad. Thanks for asking. Anything special I need to focus on?”

  Before she can respond, a whiff of exotic perfume fills the air followed by Darlene in a navy pants suit. She smiles at my assistant. “How you doing, honey? Dana, right?”

  They exchange small talk, then Dana exits, closing my office door behind her.

  Darlene parks herself in one of the three brown fabric chairs provided for visitors. “I gather you received my voicemail?”

  “I’m thrilled for you. V.P. Wow, congratulations,” I say.

  “I need to fill you in on a few developments.” She scrutinizes my face. “You look exhausted. That’s right. You were at a funeral. Who died?”

  “A friend from college. I’ll be okay. I just have jet lag.”

  “Plenty’s happened since you’ve left. Heads have begun to roll.”

  I swallow hard. “Am I one of them?”

  “Relax, sweetie. You’re golden while I’m around. And I plan on staying for a very long time. Maybe replace Bob E. someday.”

  “So, what’s going on?”

  “I’ve made arrangements to move your office closer to mine. You’ll be involved with communications.”

  I don’t have a clue what she means by ‘communications.’ I’ve spent the last twenty years in I.T. Rather than question her logic, I say, “You can count on me.”

  She touches my arm. “I need someone I can really trust. There’s a promotion in it for you. But we’ll have to give that a few weeks.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. With Eduardo out of work we can definitely use the money. “Thank you, that’s great news.”

  “I’ve arranged for facilities to move you ASAP.”

  I glance out my office window at the cubicles of my staff. Darlene resides in an adjacent building with very little available office space. “What about my employees?”

  “Don’t worry, everything’s taken care of.”

  That seems like an impossible task even for a new V.P. but then there’s the impending layoff. She bites one of her acrylic nails. “You won’t believe the politics. I already have a problem. Phil McCoy has brain cancer. He’s announcing his resignation tomorrow.”

  Phil is one of the LBJ board members. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Word is out Governor Perry is going to choose Congressman Foreman’s wife. You’ve heard of the woman?”

  “I can’t say I pay much attention to Texas politics.”

  “You should, honey. This woman is one hell of a bitch.” She checks her watch. “Got to go. We’ll talk more later.”

  She exits my office as two guys in LBJ Corp baseball caps arrive from facilities with cardboard boxes. We briefly discuss what I need packed, then they start boxing up my files.

  Part of me wants to stay put here in the I.T. management job I’ve performed for five years. At this stage of my life, I’m not looking for upward mobility. What does Darlene reallyhave in mind with this offer of a communications job? She promised a promotion but hasn’t been all that specific.

  My assistant, Dana, and Matthew, one of my software developers, park themselves at my door with baffled looks on their faces.

  “Is everything okay?” Dana asks as the movers haul off my desk.

  I give her a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you set up a staff meeting?”

  Dana steps inside the office and whispers, “Did you get fired?”

  “Oh, no!” It dawns on me, with all the rumors of layoffs, my employees think I got the hatchet. “I’m just moving to the Gartner building to do a project for Darlene McIntire. You all will be joining me soon.”

  Dana sighs. “Thank God. So when are we moving?”

  Matthew shakes his head. “I’ve heard the space situation in Gartner is so bad, they’re doubling up in cubicles.”

  I assure my staff I’d never let that happen to them. Sharing office space never goes over well at LBJ.

  It takes hours to unpack and organize everything in my new office located next to Darlene’s. The view of Lake Austin normally reserved for executives is awesome. I wonder if she’s told my boss Victor about the move.

  Darlene enters my new office, smiles, and closes the door behind her. “It’s so good to have someone around I can trust.” She sits down in a chair and crosses her long legs. “When you’re V.P., people are always sucking up to you. Guys resent a woman having so much power.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “You have to watch your back. If anyone found out I was doing Bob E., I’d be literally screwed.”

  She giggles at the double entendre, and I force out a laugh even though I find the comment more dumb than funny. I hate her references to her relationship with Bob E. Why can’t she leave me out of it? Changing the topic, I ask her when my staff will get reassigned cubes in the building. Can she really make that happen?

  The pads of her fingertips tap my desk. “There’s a bit of a snafu there. It may be a few weeks, possibly a month.”

  “How will I hold my daily briefings?”

  Darlene suggests we use webcams.

  I decide to drop the matter for now and go along with her suggestion. My stomach feels queasy. “I’ll ask Victor if we have money in the budget for them.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “You no longer report to him. Just buy them.”

  Victor won’t be pleased at this news and I’m not sure where this leaves my staff. There is no available space in the cubicles in front of my new office. Then it dawns on me that Darlene may have a plan for those employees currently occupying the offices. I whisper, “Are these people getting downsized?”

  “I prefer to think they’re being replaced with people I trust. Most of them don’t like me anyway.”

  Has the hard drive in her head corrupted? Darlene inherited most of these employees from the last V.P. who took an early retirement package. She hasn’t given them much of a chance.

  She hands me an envelope. “Can you take this over to Bob E.’s office? Make sure you hand it directly to him. Don’t let Geisha Gal get her hands on it.”

  “I understand.”

  AS I RIDE THE ELEVATOR DOWN to Bob Englewood’s executive office, I wonder if this is what Darlene meant about a ‘communication opportunity.’ I enter the outer office of our new CEO, and say hello to Suzi Lin, Bob E.’s gorgeous Asian secretary, who’s immaculately dressed in a tailored suit with a red silk scarf around her neck. She looks up from her computer and asks how she can help me.

  I tell her that Bob E.’s expecting me. How shabby I must appear in the jeans, sneakers, and LBJ T-shirt I’ve got on. My hair is thrown in a ponytail. I thought I’d be spending the day unpacking boxes, not visiting with the CEO.

  A soft yellow light illuminates Bob E.’s office. Suzi picks up the
phone, dials his extension, and announces my presence. Seconds later she tells me to go inside.

  Numerous soccer plaques and pictures of Bob E. with different groups of boys and girls dressed in shorts and jerseys fill the walls. The room is decorated in a contemporary motif with a teak desk, matching round table and four sleek chairs. A photo of him with a pretty blonde, two cute kids, and a golden retriever sits on the credenza in a pewter frame.

  What am I doing here? This perfect American family could end up devastated by Bob E.’s cheating.

  He looks up from his laptop and smiles. “Darlene says you have some confidential correspondence for me.” His thick wavy hair is graying at the temples, while his eyes are as blue as his floor-to-ceiling Lake Austin view. He has muscular arms like a guy who works out regularly. I’d rarely seen him this close-up before. Usually, he’s standing on a podium giving a speech.

  I clear my throat and hand him the envelope.

  Bob E. tears it open, reads her note, and chuckles. Then he rips it up and glances up at me. “Darlene has plans for you.”

  It’s obvious why he’s charmed the pants off of her. “Ah, yes, she said something about a promotion.”

  “Where did you grow up? I detect a bit of Yankee,” he says.

  “That’s my Long Island accent coming out after many years out west. It appears whenever I’m nervous.”

  He beams. “Didn’t mean to make you uneasy. I did my bachelors degree at NYU on a football scholarship. Just love New Yourkas. Can you imagine being a kid from Smithville, Texas, in the Big Apple for college? Hell, best time of my life. All those pretty girls.”

  I smile. “Funny, I grew up on Long Island and came out west. I did my MBA here at UT.”

  “Interesting. I bet we crisscrossed the country about the same time.” His phone rings, but he doesn’t pick it up. Then his cell beeps.

  He glances at the caller ID. “I should probably catch this.”

  I point at the door. “I’ll leave.”

  “No, stay. It’ll just be a minute.”