Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland

by Lara Reznik

  After six hours including the Dallas layover, the stewardess gave instructions for our landing in Albuquerque. The plane hit the ground with a thud, bounced up, and landed a second time before gliding smoothly down the runway.

  Passenger’s faces looked as pasty as the oatmeal they’d eaten for breakfast. The perky stewardess clicked on the intercom. “Welcome to Albuquerque International Sunport. We appreciate your flying TWA and hope you enjoy your stay in The Land of Enchantment.”

  As I walked off the airplane, I felt anything but enchanted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man with a thin red ponytail and ratty goatee. His beady eyes were focusing on the deplaning passengers. Could I zip past him before he caught sight of me? Head to the terminal, change my return ticket, and take the first flight back home.

  But where was home? Back in Long Island with my parents? At Bodine Hall with Denise and Katie? Or was it with Chris, Ben, Doc, and the rest of the family? At seventeen, I was risking everything for a man I wasn’t sure I loved, and his best friend whom I couldn’t stop dreaming about.

  As I stood by the gate contemplating the absurdity of my life, I saw another guy with strawberry-blond curls and piercing green eyes waving at me in the crowd of people greeting passengers. He was far more appealing than the first guy I’d seen. Downright hot. I changed my mind about catching the first bird back home. My adventure had just begun. And I planned to relish and embrace it like the characters in On the Road.

  Then I noticed a visibly pregnant young girl with enormous brown eyes standing next to him. She also smiled at me and waved. When I reached the two of them, she gave me a hug and said her name was Peaches. The guy named Rojo took my bag and welcomed me to Albuquerque with a hug, too. The three of us sauntered through the large atrium of the airport. As we rode down an escalator, Rojo and Peaches became kissie-huggy. When we reached the parking lot, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. “The baby’s kicking.”

  Rojo smiled like a proud papa. “Far out.”

  “Wanna feel?” She grasped my hand and held it to her belly before I had a chance to answer.

  Wow, I could really feel the baby kicking. I’d never felt life inside the womb before and I choked up. The reality of creating a real baby overwhelmed me. What kind of mother would Peaches be to this unborn child? What kind of mother would I be? Once again I found myself praying silently to a supreme being I wasn’t sure existed. God, please don’t let me have a baby growing inside me. I’m not ready to be a good mother yet. I hope to be someday. But not now.

  The three of us walked through rows of cars until we reached an old pickup. Rojo opened the passenger door and Peaches and I scooted in. Peaches sat in the middle and her belly hit the gearshift.

  Rojo turned on the motor and struggled to shift into reverse. We left the airport and rambled down a street called Yale Boulevard. The sun peeked out through cottony clouds. To my right, huge snowcapped mountains cascaded as far as I could see.

  Peaches pointed at a gas station. “Hey, can you stop at that Texaco? I gotta pee real bad.”

  We drove into the station and Rojo pulled to the side of the building by the restrooms. I stepped from the cab so Peaches could get out. She gave Rojo a peck on the cheek, slid out of the seat, and waddled to the door marked WOMEN.

  As soon as I climbed back inside, Rojo put the truck in gear and sped off.

  “Hey, you can’t just leave her there,” I said.

  “It probably ain’t even my kid baking in her oven.”

  I jutted my lip out. “I-I don’t care. It’s not right. Drop me off too, then.”

  He snapped his eyes at me. “Jesus. If it makes you feel better, I’ll call her sister.” He pulled into a vacant parking lot and screeched to a stop next to a phone booth. As he stepped out of the truck, he shook his head and said, “Ben and Chris should have warned me what a pain in the ass you were gonna be, Laila.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Promotion

  Austin, Texas, 2012

  The digital clock on the nightstand glows 3:33 a.m. and sleep still evades me. Can it really be true that my husband of twenty-five years has moved out? My mind is like a degraded hard drive spinning out of control. Pain pulsates in my chest. For a second, I fear I’m having a heart attack.

  Relax, it’s probably a panic attack. Or a nightmare.

  I pinch my arm with hope of awakening back to my normal life with Ed. Then I notice the covers moving next to me. Was I asleep when Ed returned? I reach out to touch him. But the body next to me feels furry. She licks my face.

  “Damn it, Willow. What are you doing here?”

  My dog dashes off the bed and onto her big fleece pillow.

  I take deep breaths. Om Shanti Shanti om. After twenty minutes of chanting, it’s time for Plan B. I stagger to the bathroom in search of the bottle of Xanax I filled when Ed lost his job last year. At the time, I had feared our lives as we knew them were coming to an end. Ed sold his BMW and bought a used Chevy truck. I gave up my personal trainer and cleaning lady. With my salary and his 401k, we’ve survived. No big deal.

  But this crisis is vastly more serious. As I rummage through various half-empty prescription bottles, I fear the worst. Divorce, prison. I locate the Xanax and take one, no two pills. Twenty-minutes later I feel woozy and start to doze off. Then, almost as quickly as I fall asleep, the green glow of the clock reads 4:46 a.m.

  Wide-awake now.

  At 5:45 a.m. the theme song from NPR plays on the clock radio. Simultaneously the home phone rings. I fumble for the receiver.

  “Are you awake?” Ed asks. “You mentioned having an early meeting with Darlene. Thought you might forget to set the alarm.”

  Ed, an early morning person, has always been in charge of waking up me, the night owl. He normally greets me with a cappuccino and the Austin American Statesman. Just the sound of his voice soothes my nerves. “I appreciate the call. How are you?”

  “It’s not exactly the Hilton over here. Ellen disconnected the utilities. It’s cold. The air mattress sucked.”

  “Why don’t you come home? It’s ridiculous for you to stay at the rental,” I say.

  “You need to get your shit together. Hold on a minute, someone’s at the door.”

  Is that a woman’s voice I hear talking to Ed? He finally returns to the phone. “Hey, Laila, gotta go.”

  I start to ask him who’s at the door so early, but a dial tone fills my ears. It’s time to get up and make my own cappuccino. Problem is, I never learned how to run the damn Capresso machine.

  As I stumble from the bed, I try to recall the last time I told Ed I loved him. Not the “love you, babe” people say nowadays when they end a phone call, but the look-in-the-eyes kind that people rarely say. No doubt I’ve taken him for granted. Boy, will that change when he comes home. If he comes home. I pray for freezing weather and trouble with the City of Austin reconnecting the utilities. That will bring him home. Maybe tonight.

  Willow whines and gives me one of her pitiful people-dog looks. Rather audacious of her to get under the covers like that. I laugh as I replenish her dog bowls, then run a bath. The hot water feels soothing. It’s time for a more optimistic attitude. Isn’t it a good sign that Ed phoned? But who was the woman at his door? Probably Ellen, the old tenant, coming for something she left behind.

  I’m just beginning to relax when my iPhone breaks the silence. Naked and dripping wet, I grab a terry robe and sprint to my bedroom to answer it. The 520 area code is illuminated. Is it Chris calling to confirm our noon meeting? “Hello.”

  “Laila, it’s Ben.”

  Part of me doesn’t want to speak with him. This man is my personal kryptonite. “Rather early in Tucson, isn’t it? What do you want?” My words are clipped and cold.

  “Have you thought about our last conversation?”

  “Jesus, Ben. Do you want to wreck my marriage? You’ve already done a pretty good job.”

  “Really? Then there’s hope?”

 
Should I tell him Ed’s moved out? No, that would send the wrong message. “I’m flattered but not available. Do you understand?”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says.

  “I won’t hold it against you.”

  “The real reason I called was to warn you about your meeting with Chris.

  “Warn me about what?” I ask.

  “He’s totally nuts,” he says.

  The sound of footsteps in the atrium surprises me. “Got to go,” I say, and click off the phone.

  Seconds later a haggard-looking Ed stands before me. His grey hair sticks up straight like a porcupine. My heart thumps in the hope that he’s moving back home. He doesn’t say hello, just asks, “Who are you speaking to this early?”

  Should I lie? No that will make it all worse. “Ah, that guy from last night. But let me explain.”

  His voice is icy. “Just came for a few clothes and Liam’s old box-springs and mattress from the basement. Maybe the Sony TV in the guest bedroom.”

  Things are not going the way I’d hoped. “So, ah, who was knocking at the Frontier house at 5:45 this morning?”

  “Juanita. She’s moved into our other vacant house across the street. She brought over some fresh donuts.”

  “You leased our house to Juanita? Talk about omissions.”

  “She’s decided to move to Austin. The house was empty.”

  I can barely breathe. “What about her Juanita Bonita Detective business?”

  “She’s relocating it here. Says there’s more money in Texas than New Mexico.”

  “This is too weird. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He glares at me. “Don’t project your guilt on me.”

  “What guilt? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Well, this is just business. Frankly, we can’t afford two vacancies.”

  “How cozy for you to live across the street from her,” I say.

  “I’ll see you when you’re sane, Laila.”

  As he bolts down the stairs, I yell, “Ef you, Eduardo. Go run to Miss Chiquita Bonita.

  AN HOUR LATER I veer the Acura down Ranch Road 620 to Austin, feeling whenever I think my life is bad, it manages to get worse. Ed and I have always had a solid marriage. Now he keeps twisting everything I say. And then there’s Juanita.

  After a pit stop at Starbucks, I arrive in Darlene’s office with a Caramel Macciato, and a Skinny Latte. She removes her reading glasses and smiles as I hand her the latte. Her office smells of lemon oil from the modern furniture she recently bought at Skandinavia Interiors. A snapshot of her kids, a boy and a girl, sits in a silver frame on her desk.

  I take a seat on the cream leather couch and pray there’s no drama from her today. I’m not sure how much more I can handle. Darlene removes her glasses and holds my gaze. “Things are going well for us.”

  “Have you found office space for my staff?”

  She peers at the view of Lake Austin. “That won’t be necessary now.”

  “I don’t understand.” My stomach churns. Please don’t fire me. Par for the course.

  “Remember I promised you a promotion?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t exactly done anything.”

  “You’re the new CIO, hon. And that comes with a big raise. A phenomenal one, if you ask me.”

  “But, what will Victor say?” Victor is my boss, the Corporate I.T. Manager. He’s been waiting for the very prestigious Corporate Information Officer title for months. This makes me his boss.

  “No problem. I convinced Bob E. we need a woman for that job.”

  “Victor will be totally bummed out,” I say.

  “I’ll handle him. With the recession going on, he’s lucky to still have a job, don’t ya think? Oh, by the way. I’m heading to the Four Seasons. Bob E. got us a room and a couple’s massage lined up. Won’t that be heavenly?”

  “Great.”

  “Officially, I’m working from home the rest of the day. That’s what I’ll have Myra tell anyone who inquires about me. And if you need admin support, she’s available to you.”

  “What I need is to know what to tell my staff.”

  She sits back down at her desk and starts hacking away at the keyboard. “I just took care of everything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Check your e-mail. And don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. We’re booked under the name Laila Levin.”

  “You used my name?”

  “Just kidding, hon. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Like the Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie movie. Now go enjoy your new job title and the gorgeous view from your office. There’s a little surprise in there for you too.”

  Darlene’s cell rings. She glances at the caller I.D. and says, “Richard, I was just going to call you. I’ll probably be working late tonight.”

  I leave Darlene on the phone and head next door to my new office. Surprise. Darlene’s redecorated it with Scandinavian furniture similar to hers. The aroma of fine leather from the sleek new loveseat fills my senses. The azure water of Lake Austin and the luxurious new furnishings placate me. I turn on my computer and open my Outlook account. There’s an e-mail from Darlene. I click on the message and notice it’s been sent to everyone at LBJ:

  From: Darlene McIntire

  Sent: Monday, February 3, 2012 8:46 a.m.

  To: LBJ_employees

  Subject: New CIO

  On behalf of the executive team, I would like to congratulate Laila Levin on her promotion to Chief Information Officer of the LBJ, effective immediately.

  Darlene McIntire

  LBJ Vice President and Chief Financial Officer

  Within minutes, my mailbox fills with congratulatory e-mails. The office phone rings nonstop. Dana, my assistant, calls to find out if she’ll still be working for me. Matt and the rest of my development staff want to know whom my replacement will be. What about the SubWan and EMS upgrade committees I chair? I don’t have answers to these questions. Darlene has not thought any of this through. It occurs to me that as CIO, I should have the authority to make these decisions myself. The CIO is an executive manager.

  The hardest call is the one from Victor, my boss of twelve years. He’s always been a great boss and I know he must feel disappointed that I got the job he really deserves. He congratulates me and asks if we can meet ASAP. The I.T. staff is worried about the layoffs. They want to know what my plans are for them. My Outlook calendar indicates that I’m free after my lunch with Chris. I’m about to suggest we meet at two but decide it’s best to block out the afternoon. Who knows what Chris will have to say? I may need a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Maybe two. Not a good idea to come back to work with alcohol on my breath. “How about nine tomorrow?”

  After Victor agrees to meet in the morning, I hang up the phone and stare at the glorious view of the lake, but it gives me little pleasure. What are Bob E. and Darlene planning in terms of a layoff? Lives are at stake here. My head feels like a grenade exploded inside. Damn Darlene for leaving me with this mess while she’s off on the love-boat with Bob E.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Letter Opener

  Austin, Texas, 2012

  While Darlene and Bob E. are busy on the love-boat, I try to think like a CIO. With authority comes responsibility that impacts people’s lives. I’ve always dreamed of this type of success, but why does it come to me now when my brain needs a thorough defrag?

  The day feels unbearably long and it’s only 9:00 a.m. I sort through a stack of envelopes creating three piles: important, interesting, trash. As much as I try to concentrate, my mind wanders back to last night. It’s hard to believe Ed stormed out to the rental. I vow to call him today and make this right. Tell him everything. The whole truth this time, not just part of it. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Before I lose him for good.

  My iPhone interrupts my thoughts. 520 area code flashes on the display. Chris or Ben? I click the phone on and say hello.

  “Hi, sista,” says a familiar v
oice on the other end. “What’s happening?”

  Where do I start? My husband’s moved out, I’ve received a big promotion because my new boss is screwing the CEO. Oh, and by the way, I may be headed to prison. “Everything’s great here. How’s things in Tucson?”

  She invites me to an engagement party for her daughter in two weeks. With all the craziness in my life, it’s hard to make that commitment, although I’d truly love to be there for my niece. Tucson of all places. Home of Chris and Ben.

  I tell her things are really hectic at work right now, but I’ll do my best to make it. We spend the next twenty minutes talking about the upcoming party, my niece’s fiancé, and our parents’ health issues. As soon as we hang up, I program EDUARDO, AMBY, my two sons, my parents, DARLENE, and LBJ’s central number into my contact list. Should I enter Ben and Chris? Better not. I yearn for my old Blackberry with everyone I know already loaded.

  Turning my attention back to work, I contemplate what my first e-mail should be as the new CIO. I open Outlook and start to compose one but once again am interrupted. This time it’s by the distinctive aroma of Chanel Number 5.

  Ivy stands in the doorway with the morning sun illuminating the gold highlights in her hair. She’s dressed in a navy suit with her cleavage visible through a silk camisole. “So this is how Long Guyland girl ended up.”

  I sneer at her. “Ah, you remember me now?”

  She closes the door. “Don’t expect I’ll acknowledge that in public.”

  “I have no illusions.” Still the queen bitch.

  “Good, then I’ll cut to the chase. I suspect what’s going on with your cute new boss.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play me for a fool. She’s schtuping Bob E. clear as day, and you need to convince her to stop. For her good, and yours as well. Or else—”